Dean Doesn't Like Lemonade
by whatabadchoice
Summary: I'm just going to cross post this from AO3. It's being written on there right now. Dean goes to a farmer's market and meets Castiel, a lemonade stand owner. The story that unfolds follows Dean as he works through a family tragedy, rebuilding his relationship with his brother, and balancing a potential new relationship with the strange lemonade stand guy! My summaries suck.
1. Chapter 1

The first time Dean walked by the stand, he was being dragged by his not-so-little brother towards the kale stall nearby. The yellow cart wasn't necessarily noticeable, but the sizable line in front of it that wound around the crowded farmer's market certainly caught Dean's eye. Dean grimaced at the thought of the sour liquid being consumed by all the people waiting. It was hot, as most summers tended to be in Kansas, but no amount of dry mouth could persuade Dean to brave the acrid taste of glorified lemon juice and sugar. Lemonade. Dean huffed a breath even as Sam's large hand wrapped around his neck to keep pulling him forward. If I wanted something burning my throat, I'd order a bourbon, Dean thought darkly, allowing himself to be dragged to the vegetable display at a further stall.

The next time Dean noticed the large yellow sign for lemonade, he glanced a little longer at the vendors selling the offensive drink. What adult in their right mind would start a lemonade stand as a career? Dean wanted to be able to mock the person responsible for the atrociously bright sunflower sign above the stall, but once again quite a large amount of people were lined up around the small business. A pretty successful lemonade stand, Dean conceded mentally, and tried to spy the workers beyond the crowd.

Above the fray, a short redheaded woman and a dark haired man were working up a sweat trying to keep up. Dean tried to get a good look, but his brother was on a mission to try the new vegetable shots they were advertising loudly down the lane. For a moment, right before Sam succeeded in pulling him away, Dean's eyes caught those of the dark haired man across the counter. Though he was serving an impatient customer, the lemonade stand man tipped his head forward. Dean checked behind him and looked back at the man still staring at him with a warm smile.

"Come ON, Dean! We're missing the presentation!" Sam was yelling, so Dean stopped resisting and followed his brother towards what looked like several scantily clad ladies shaking broccoli pompoms. Sam ignored the "chard-leaders" (What the fuck was a chard? Dean wondered idly) to stare at a large nutritional information display being projected onto the side of the tent. Dean flashed a young lady performing the choreographed dance one of his most charming smiles, but his gaze traveled back unbidden to the bright yellow stand still bursting with energy. He shook his head and glanced back at Sam, who had been trying to get his attention and beckoned him closer. With a groan, Dean joined his younger brother and tried to forget about the dark hair and blue eyes of the man at the lemonade stand .

That had been more than 6 weeks ago. Since then, Sam had begged Dean to return to the same farmer's market almost weekly, and Dean had reluctantly agreed. If Sam noticed Dean lingering near the lemonade stand, he didn't say a word.

One particular afternoon, as Dean strolled nonchalantly past Jemma's pie stand for the fourth time, he stole a glance at what was now becoming his favourite stand. It must have been a slow day because the redheaded girl, Anna, he had learned was her name, was absent and Dean had only seen about five or six customers patronize the blue-eyed vendor's stall today. Not that he'd been counting. Not that he'd been looking, even. But when he lifted his eyes to check out the stand as he walked by, again, the clearly bored shopkeeper lifted his chin from where it rested on his palm and straightened up to wave at Dean. Blushing furiously, Dean shoved his hands in his jean pockets and hunched his shoulders as he trained his eyes to the floor and sped up.

Dean was so busy trying to find his phone so he could text Sam to tell him they were getting the hell out of here that he didn't notice a hand shoot out in front of him. Dean didn't stop walking until the palm of said hand collided with his chest and he was forced to look up. The hand in question seemed to be connected to a body: the body of the man Dean had cleverly named Lemonade Stand Guy.

"Hello." Lemonade Stand Guy said calmly. Dean looked up, stricken.

"Uh... Hi?" Dean replied, face burning.

"Would you like some lemonade?" the guy asked, but Dean was still staring open mouthed at the man in front of him.

He was wearing a light blue, honest-to-God apron over a pair of jeans and a shirt that read "I HEART" with what appeared to be a large picture of a bumblebee underneath. Dean shut his mouth with an audible click. Seemingly undeterred by Dean's silence, the stranger continued talking.

"Oh yes, I see you've noticed my attire. Bees play such an important role in our ecosystem, Dean. Were you aware that recent research has shown that even the toxins in bee stings might be instrumental in preventing the transmission of the human immunodeficiency virus? Not to mention the delicious benefits of their hard work..."

"How did you know my name?" Dean blurted, cutting the man off. He tried to feel guilty for interrupting, but he was worried this guy would never stop once he got started on the "benefits" of bees. Or was it honey? Dean didn't really care, but when the stranger's cheeks tinged pink and he lifted his arm to rub his neck bashfully, Dean couldn't find it in him to regret causing this adorable reaction. Adorable? Dean thought, shaking his head. Where did that come from? He frowned.

"I'm sorry..." the man mumbled, looking up at Dean from below thick lashes. He was giving Sammy a run for his money on the puppy dog look. "I think I've met your brother... Sam?" he continued, but when Dean's expression didn't change, the man straightened up.

"I'm sorry," the man repeated, squaring his shoulders determinedly. He moved his arm from the back of his neck to jut out in the small space between them. "Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel. I own that lemonade stand. I think I may have met your brother Sam when he was perusing Rita's kale stand."

Dean looked down at the hand offered to him, still frowning. When had Sammy met this guy? What had he said to him about Dean exactly? He looked up at Castiel, who gazed hopefully back.

"Alright." He said gruffly, grasping the man's hand. "I'm Dean." Castiel beamed. But you already knew that, Dean

"Would you like to try some lemonade?" he asked, hopeful expression still in place. When Dean leaned back, ready to politely, if insistently, decline, Castiel just moved farther into his personal space.

"It would be a free sample, of course. I have been offering them all day. Of course I have only been offering them to those I personally have made uncomfortable by implying previous acquaintance and knowledge of familial bonds."

After a beat, Dean snorted.

"Alright," he said again, smiling despite the awkwardness only noticing the mason jar filled with pale yellow liquid in Castiel's hand. The vendor eagerly deposited said receptacle in Dean's hand. "Thanks, Cas." The man smiled again, his eyes crinkling and his gums showing. Dean couldn't help but smile back.

A moment passed before Dean remembered the jar in his hand. Castiel stared expectantly.

"Right," Dean muttered, flustered by the steady eye contact. Smiling somewhat thinly, he brought the juice up to his mouth. Schooling his face, he took one big sip, silently praying his features haven't betrayed his absolute hatred of lemonade.

"Do you like it?" Castiel prompted almost immediately, but Dean's mouth was still full. Trying not to wince, Dean smiled encouragingly, ignoring the blush that returned full force at the man's phrasing.

"It's delicious!" he finally replied, mentally berating himself as the words spilled unintentionally from his mouth.

"Really?" Castiel asked, eyes widening and gums peeking out behind lips that spread wider into a smile. And how was Dean supposed to wipe that looks off someone's face? Besides, Sam and he visited this particular market on a regular basis. Hell, Sam had already met Cas, even talked about Dean to Cas. There was no way that Dean could make things awkward between them by insulting this guy's livelihood. Anyway, the lemonade wasn't that bad. For one of his least favourite drinks, it actually tasted quite sweet; almost like one of Jemma's lemon meringue pies. Not the sour concoction Dean remembered from his childhood. Plus Dean's eyes kept getting stuck on the tiny wrinkles at the corner of Cas's blue eyes and the corners of his lips. He found himself grinning pointlessly back at the man once more.

Suddenly aware of how long he had been silent, Dean cleared his throat loudly.

"How- How long have you and your wife been running the stand?" he asked. Dean's face immediately burned red at the transparency of his question. Damn it. He used to be good at it together here, champ.

Dean didn't miss the smug look in Castiel's eye as he made a point of furrowing his brow in confusion.

"My wife?" he said to himself loudly, finger on his chin. Dean barely repressed an eye roll. Cas lifted his hand to his temple, tapping idly. Then, after a moment of obvious and pointed contemplation, he gestured to the stand. "Oh!" he exclaimed loudly. "You mean my foster sister, Anna!" Shifting his attention back to Dean, he smirked openly at the charade, eyes twinkling dangerously. Dean raised his chin, clinging to his dignity, and nodded his assent.

"Just over a year now." Castiel continued in the same cheeky tone. "We used to live in Illinois, but we moved to Lawrence for more of a fast paced, city life." Then Castiel looked Dean right in the eye and winked. Dean's face lit up with another blush, so he took a sip from his cup to hide his embarrassment.

"How long have you been in Lawrence?" Castiel asked in turn, and Dean swallowed carefully because Castiel's eyes had lowered to track the movement of Dean's tongue over his lips as he spoke.

"I... It's only been a few months. Grew up here originally, but got the hell outta dodge soon as I could, you know? Now I'm back 'cause my d—'cause of some family stuff. Plus Sammy just got accepted to law school so he'll be leaving for Stanford in the fall. Couldn't miss seeing my little bro go off to his big new college." Dean explained. Castiel's stare bore into his and Dean had to fight to keep his mouth shut. Something about Lemonade Stand Guy just set him babbling. And his eyes... This dude could win a staring contest with Michaelangelo's best.

"It sounds like Sam is an important person in your life." Castiel replied seriously, and Dean nodded emphatically.

"Sammy's awesome. Best kid you'll ever meet, and a friggin' genius. Wants to study law so he can 'help out the little guy' as he puts it, but I secretly think he just wants to wear a suit to impress the ladies. He's been studying at Kansas University and he's so freaking good they gave him a full ride at Stanford for next year. I figure you gotta be pretty damn smart if schools are willing to pay you to study there," Dean babbled. Castiel smiled indulgently.

"You seem very proud of Sam. It must be nice for him to have such a supportive older brother," Castiel replied kindly, but Dean frowned even as he ducked his head modestly.

Truth be told, Dean hadn't been around much for Sam's first year at KU. In fact, he hadn't really been there at all. Sam had decided to stay in res to get "the full college experience" and Dean... Dean had spent much of the first few months trying to not to stare into the crystal ball of his future in this town that was his father's limp body surrounded by empties every morning. Consequently, most days were spent at the garage with Bobby, working on cars and saving up money for the night Dean would spend at the Roadhouse, trying to forget his father and the future he represented. Then, after the incident with Alastair... Dean had decided he'd best get the hell out before anything worse could come out of it.

Plagued by thoughts of the past, Dean ran his free hand through his hair, fretting. He was abruptly brought back to the present when Castiel reached up and plucked something off his flannel shirt sleeve, his hand coming to rest lightly on his bicep.

"You had a small piece of lint just there," Castiel explained lightly, but his eyes remained open and understanding. For one panicked moment, Dean wondered if he had said any of the things he had been thinking out loud, but then Castiel was releasing his shoulder and shrugging stiffly.

Dean shook his head to clear it and took another sip of the juice just to cool his apparently unendingly hot cheeks. Remembering that said juice was still the hated lemonade, he fought to keep the grimace off his face at the acidic taste.

"I should probably go..." he said after a minute, and Castiel nodded curtly. He stepped back, suddenly alerting Dean to the fact that Castiel had been standing quite close to him throughout their conversation. "It was nice meeting you, Casti—Cast—Cas. It was nice meeting you, Cas."

"It was lovely to finally meet you, Dean," Castiel said, eyes twinkling once more with humor. "I am glad I decided to approach you. I was beginning to think you might wear a dike in the asphalt in front of my stand and I simply cannot afford a lawsuit at the moment. Though," Castiel added, his expression considering, "I supposed an injured customer would entail a trial, and I'd look forward to seeing more of you throughout Sam's probable involvement in the legal proceedings."

At that, Castiel winked a second time and turned completely on his heel, heading back towards the stand to flip the "back in ten minutes!" sign over and greet the few customers already in line.

It wasn't until Dean was sitting in the driver seat as Sam placed bags in the trunk that he realized he was still holding the mason jar Castiel had given him.

 _Guess you'll just have to return it next time_ , Dean thought.

And that thought made him smile as he drained the glass cup, wincing at the bitter aftertaste of his least favourite drink.

The drive home went by without much talking. Though Sam did his best to hide it, without the distraction and familiarity of Dean's grumbling about vegetables, the cause of his absence over the past four months hung over their heads ominously. Sam hadn't outright asked, ( yet… thought Dean), so Dean hadn't elaborated. When his older brother had shown up with a split lip and a black eye six weeks ago asking about their dad's health, Sam had been too happy to see him to notice Dean's guilty expression and swollen knuckles. Despite the fact that Dean had been back in Lawrence making these trips to the farmer's market for more than a month now, the easy conversation that once dominated his time spent with Sam was now plagued by awkward silences instead. Dean pretended the pain in his chest was heartburn, and turned the radio up in the car.

When Dean had returned from his self-imposed exile, Sam had been driving a beat up dodge challenger.

"Not even from the good years!" Dean had immediately exclaimed when he noticed, and Sam had shrugged noncommittally.

"It's all I can afford right now, Dean," he'd said, and that had wiped the smug smirk Dean had been sporting right off his face.

Sam hadn't been able to continue paying for res after Dean had left. Despite the sizable chunk of savings Dean had entrusted to his little brother through his father; apparently Sam had blown through it too fast. Apparently, res was for those who could pay. Apparently, the little money Dean could afford to send over each month wasn't enough. Apparently, Sam's grades meant nothing if he technically had a legal guardian willing and able to house him. And God knew John could put on an act if it meant keeping at least one of his boys home and under his thumb. Dean had blown up when Sam had reluctantly explained the situation within the first week, but, as usual, Dean was only mad at himself. If he had have stayed…

Dean sighed, gripping the steering wheel tighter. But he had not stayed. And if it took another six weeks of awkward fumbling for normalcy, he would take them gladly over the ache he had felt when he had been on his own.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand as he pulled up to Sam's apartment, Dean shook his head to rid himself of dark thoughts. Moving back to Lawrence had been a step forward. He'd done it because of Sam. Sam was on his own now, and it was Dean's job as his older brother to take care of him. Besides, John was… Well John was nearly out of the picture, wasn't he? So once that bow was neatly tied up, Sam could move on and have a normal apple pie life in Stanford. No fuck-up dad or brother holding him back.

"Burgers for supper?" Sam asked as they climbed out of the car.

"Sure," said Dean easily, grabbing two bags of groceries from the farmer's market. "You know one of these days I'm gonna find a good place and get outta your hair, Sammy, I promise…"

"Oh shut up. You know you're welcome here for however long you need. Jerk." Sam said, and Dean could feel his brother not quite looking up at him from beneath his shaggy hair. Dean's mouth quirked up at the edges.

"Bitch." he replied, and they both ducked their heads, smiling to themselves.

After they put the groceries away, Dean looked at the local ads for apartments again. When he first arrived, he hadn't thought far enough ahead to consider job arrangements. Once the news about John had reached him on the road, he had packed up and driven home without a plan. All he could think of was his little brother, scared and alone, not knowing where Dean was. Thankfully, he had made arrangements with Bobby Singer, an old friend of his dad's, to start up where John had left off. The work was slow to begin with; earning Bobby's trust had proved harder than he'd thought. Eventually, however, once Bobby could see Dean's disappearing act had had no effect on his ability to change a carburetor, Dean had steadily gained respect and subsequently more hours. Customers had even begun to request him by name, and even surly old Bobby couldn't refuse good business. So, Dean had begun to look for places. Crashing with your younger brother in his bachelor apartment was an okay line for a couple of weeks, but Dean didn't want to burden his little brother just when he had found his own place.

Once all the trimmings had been made for burgers, the brother sat at the table to eat.

"We're gonna have to go tonight," Sam finally said into the void.

Dean sighed. "I know."

"Thanks for coming home," Sam said. Dean tried not to object at the undeserved gratitude.

"Thanks for not kicking me out," he mumbled back, grabbing his brother's empty plate and heading over to sink to wash dishes before he could protest. Sam got up from the tiny table opposite the stove.

"Ready in twenty?" Sam asked, before heading over to his laptop. Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

"Ready in twenty," he said reluctantly. Ready in never, more like, he grumbled inwardly.

Forty minutes later, Sam and Dean arrived at the small, mostly decrepit house they once called home. Sam immediately jogged up the stairs. Dean, however, walked slowly to the front door, pausing by the car parked beside them in the front lane. He caressed the hood automatically as he walked by. The one beauty that had come out of their father's distant and erratic behaviour: his baby, the '67 Chevy impala. John had never let Dean drive it, and Sam had never had an interest in it. Some nights, John would try his luck at a bar that still trusted him to pay a tab without starting a fight. But once John moved his drinking back home, Dean would sneak out and drive it out to the bars. He couldn't suppress a smile at the memories made in the backseat of his cherished car as he continued to where his brother stood in front of the door.

When he reached the threshold, the first thing that Dean noticed was the damaged door frame.

The attempt had obviously been made at repairing it, but the white paneling near the door knob was cracked, belying the real reason of their visit. Dean was reminded vaguely of a school teacher talking to him about suicide. "The first thing you wanna do if someone tells you they're in danger is get them to unlock their door," the teacher from somewhere in Alabama had said. "Why?" a young Dean had asked, wonder in his eyes. It was only their third or fourth school. It was back when teachers could still elicit anything other than contempt in Dean Winchester. "'Cause, son. When the police come a-knockin', they ain't gon' wait for a dead person to open the door. They gon' break that sucker down to save 'em soon as possible!" Dean let his foot drag along the splintered edge on his way into the doorframe. Within moments of stepping inside the house, Dean's nostrils flared with the scent of mould and decay. Gagging on the stale air, Dean rushed to cover his nose with his flannel shirt. Sam followed suit.

"We shouldn't have let it get like this," Sam said unnecessarily. They both knew their procrastination in cleaning the old house wasn't founded in laziness. Though the inhabitant of the dwelling may have vacated the premises long ago, the memories and past grievances were thick enough in the air that the two sons who were finally returning felt suffocated.

"You know, we could make him do this if he..." Sam had begun to say, but Dean turned to glare at his brother sharply.

"C'mon, Sammy, you know better'n that," he said gruffly, but his little brother's wide eyes kept any real bite out of his voice.

"Shit," Sam muttered, and his free hand lifted to shade his eyes above his shirt covered jaw. "I didn't... I didn't think it'd be like this, you know?" he said finally, and Dean had to physically repress his shudder at the crack in his voice.

"Yeah. Well. It is what it is," Dean said, unsure of an appropriate response. "Listen, Sammy, why don't you go out back and see if you can't find some bins or something? I'll try opening some windows, air this place out a little." Dean instructed firmly, throwing in a little go get 'em attitude to keep the tremor out of his voice. Sam nodded mutely as his picked his way through the hallway entrance littered with garbage and broken frames.

Wandering further in only threatened to break Dean's self control as he found the dozens and dozens of empty beer cans and broken bottles of Jack strewn haphazardly around the house. The stench of old alcohol had definitely begun to permeate his makeshift mask, so Dean tried his best to hurry the process of opening windows up. Leaning over dust ridden lampshades, Dean attempted to pry windows open past stained furniture and moldy curtains. A short time later, satisfied with the completion of his first small task, Dean returned to the car for the supplies they had brought in case the house needed some work. And boy, did it need some work.

Armed with bleach and rubber gloves, Dean squared his shoulders as if preparing for battle. Sam, in the meantime, had taken to amassing the impressive collection of cans and bottles in order to recycle them. They both avoided looking at the empty spot in the armchair in the living room. Instead, Dean entered the kitchen with a determined look in his eye. Upon spying the uneaten slab of meat infested with squirming white insects on the kitchen counter, however, Dean's resolve wavered slightly. Ignoring the burning stench of putrefaction and the rolling in his gut, Dean nodded to himself with dogged purpose.

"Let's do this," he muttered to himself, and immediately got to work.

It was only several hours and three bottles of bleach later that Dean finally called it quits.

"Okay, Sammy, that's about all I can handle for today." He said, dropping the broom tiredly. He hadn't even progressed from the kitchen. The fridge alone had taken ages; Dean had scrubbed tirelessly at the dried vomit embedded in the plastic of one of the handles. Finally, he had admitted defeat and dropped his sponge.

"Seriously, we need to get out of here, get to a bar, and get smashed," he called out, and heard Sam snort from the other room.

"Sure, Dean. Good idea. Let's go out and get wasted after cleaning up the disgusting house of an alcoholic shut in whose liver is keeping him in a coma as we speak."

Both their heads snapped up at the verbal admission. They had, of course, been thinking these exact words since Dean's return to Lawrence. Behind every awkward beat between conversation topics, underneath every careful lip bitten in lieu of retaliation, there lay this unspoken truth about their ever absent father, once by choice and then by necessity of health. Finally, uttered out loud, the big truth, the secret. It was Dean's reason for returning home, the reason the house had been avoided, and (not quite) the reason it was being cleaned by the two boys that very night. Both men stared at each other for a few, charged moments.

Then, instead of admonishing Sam's somewhat insensitive remarks, Dean suddenly got up, crossed the hall where Sam stood, grabbed the trash bag out of his hand, and walked out of the room without a word. Sam stared after him, ready to resign himself to more cleaning when...

"Well?" Dean called back, when Sam stood dumbstruck at the kitchen's threshold. "You comin'? Those fruity little bitch drinks ain't gonna drink themselves, Samantha!"

And despite the stains on the couch and the open windows and the loaded black trash bags littering what Sam once considered his home, the younger brother suddenly tore off his rubber gloves, tripping over the carpet in his haste to get past the front door.

"Wait up, jerk!" Sam yelled in return, and he could see his brother's mouth twitch as he held up the keys to the impala.

"Hurry up, Samantha! Or I'm putting Night Moves on," Dean said, grinning widely then, opening up the driver's door as Sam reached the passenger side.

"You wouldn't," Sam said, but Dean was already selecting the tape as Sam settled in.

"Driver picks the music..." Dean began, but the rest of his sentence was lost to the musical styling of Bob Seger.

And there was no more room for the silence when the familiar growl of the impala engulfed their off key singing.

Dean didn't even notice he had driven to his regular spot until they were in the parking lot, Sam doubtfully eyeing the seedy roadhouse.

"Ah, come on Sammy, we'll have a few beers, blow off some steam, and head back in time to watch some reruns on TV!" Dean said, clapping Sam on the back as they approached the entrance. "Or maybe you'll meet someone and I'll be spending the night in the impala, eh? Eh?" he goaded further, waggling his eyebrows, and his little brother couldn't suppress a smile a that.

"Gross, Dean! I don't want chlamydia." Sam argued, and Dean smacked him upside the head.

"This is a fine establishment and I won't have you insulting it in my presence. Besides," Dean added, pulling on the double doors, "Nothing a few pills can't fix. It's herpes you gotta watch out for, little brother."

Without missing a beat, Dean turned and sat at the nearest booth, already smiling at the young waitress who then came by to serve them. Sam rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the menu.

"I'll have a…" he started.

"He'll have a bacon cheeseburger, no pickles. And same here, but extra pickles for me, sweetheart." Dean finished for him, winking at the waitress. Seemingly unaffected, the petite brunette cocked her hip, waiting.

"Oh and we'll have two pints of beer. Keep 'em coming!" Dean added with a charming smile. The waitress simply jotted his order down and left. Noticing his indifference, Dean pouted. Sam shook his head, smiling despite himself.

"What's gotten into you man?" he asked finally, after Dean hummed his way through three out of the four songs being played on (terrible) karaoke. The food had arrived and both had scarfed down their burgers with gusto.

"What do you mean?" Dean said then, finally looking up from his empty plate glare at Sam in the eye.

"I mean, you show up here out of the blue, claiming to wanna help with Dad and 'take care of stuff' after all this time, then you spend the next six weeks walking on eggshells, barely even arguing with me. You let me make you kale chips, Dean. I thought you might have a terminal disease. And now tonight you're all…" Sam waved his hand around in front of him. "This again. What the hell is going on with you, Dean?" Dean stopped drumming his fingers against the table in time to the Bad Company song a burly man was singing two tables away on stage. His shoulders tensed, and he gulped down a healthy sip of his third beer.

"So I'm a little more upbeat tonight… You complainin'?" Dean said, indignant.

"No, no, of course not. But… I don't know man, what's going on that you suddenly wanna go out? I haven't seen you hit a bar in the six weeks that you've been here. And don't even pretend I didn't smell the smoke and alcohol on you when you showed up that first night."

"Well maybe I wasn't in the fucking mood. In ace you forgot, a close family member of ours is in the goddamn hospital, Sammy!" Dean said, finishing off his beer and ordering another from the waitress.

"That's just it, though! Our dad's in the fucking hospital and you're filling out insurance forms and begging Bobby for a job as soon as you first showered in my apartment. You came to the farmer's market, Dean. And I saw you drink Castiel's lemonade. You hate lemonade." Sam said, staring up at his brother expectantly.

"What the fuck is this bullshit, Sammy? Since when do you call Lemonade Guy 'Castiel'? I'm not allowed to drink lemonade now? It's a goddamn type of juice, it doesn't mean anything." Dean started, and flushed red. Getting back on track here, "Whatever. Anyway, what, am I supposed to come back and just sit around not helping? You had exams. If I'd have known you didn't want me around to help, I wouldn't've come back at all." Dean says, slamming his beer down.

"Well maybe that's what I wanted. Maybe you needed to come home and just sit around and drink. Maybe you needed a second to figure out what was going and understand what you were feeling. I don't know, Dean, I don't know what I expected. Not Rescue-Dean, mister "No thanks, just a water for me" or mister "Sure, Sammy, let me drive you to the farmer's market again"..." Sam sighed, exasperated.

"Well, fuck, Sammy. If you didn't need my help you coulda just told me." Dean finally replied, all the fight gone out of him. "I'd've stayed away from your perfect life."

"You're missing the point, Dean. I missed you. I missed this. Not the weird, "let's take a look at these insurance forms, shall we?"-version of a perfect older brother. What kinda person doesn't take a beat and grieve after finding out his dad is in a coma?" Sam says quietly, looking up at Dean. "I don't get it. It's like after we cleaned that house up, you finally let go. And it was just… God, Dean, I missed my brother." Sam's eyes brimmed with tears and Dean had to look away. Waving down the annoyed waitress again, he called out:

"Hey, sweetheart, I'm gonna need somethin' a little stronger here please."

Sam shook his head again.

"So what, now you're gonna drink yourself into a oblivion and not talk about what just happened tonight? Those aren't the parts I missed, Dean." Sam snapped, lips pinched into a pout.

"Will you give it a rest, Sammy? Yeah, okay, tonight was somethin' else. That house… It was a pretty literal representation of all the shit Dad's put us through. And it was kinda like… Like it felt good to do something about it, y'know? I mean, God, I left you alone with that guy for, what? Four months? And you saw that house, man…" Dean looked at his brother with haunted eyes. "I thought I was takin' care of you, like I was supposed to, when I left. I thought you'd be better off. Dad practically said as much, at the end there. It was supposed to be for you. You had a chance, Sammy. But I ended up screwing that up pretty bad anyway. I didn't think… I didn't think it would be like this, Sammy. I didn't want it to be like this. And it's all my damn-"

"Dean. Stop. It's not your fault. Your money helped keep me in college while Dad spiraled. You couldn't have known he would get sick and I'm sure whatever you were doing was important for you." Sam said, curiosity creeping into his voice despite his best efforts. But his brother's look only darkened further at the unspoken question. The waitress set down his whiskey, and Dean drained the rest of his beer without looking up. "Besides, you should have told me that when you got here. I didn't know how you felt, I would have-"

"So what? You wanna have a talk about feelings and braid each other's hair? Come on, Sam. I came home, I took care of stuff with the hospital, and I started carrying my weight. It's the least I could do and I'm gonna keep doing it 'til the job's done. No talks or crying are gonna change the fact that dad's an asshole, and I'm the selfish fuck who left my little brother to fend for himself." At that, Dean tipped his whiskey back in one shot, and got up from his seat. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna get trashed and get laid. Here. Take these, go back to your apartment. Or do whatever the hell you want. I better start living up to my reputation."

Slamming the keys to the impala down on the table when Sam didn't take them, Dean got up and head towards the bar. He tried not to watch as Sam ducked his head and grabbed the keys, free hand fisted at his side as he left the seedy bar immediately. The pit in Dean's stomach grew at the pain he had caused his little brother; he was gonna need a hell of a lot more liquor.

Taking a seat at the bar, Dean immediately ordered another whiskey from one of the bartenders. Then another. Then two more before he began to consider getting up to sing Simple Man with the bearded fellow who was belting out the song on the raised platform behind him.

Right about the time he was finishing his sixth drink, a bartender brought Dean a very tall, very pink drink instead of his refill of whiskey.

"Hey, man, this isn't what I ordered." Dean said, the words slurring a little already. Six weeks must have had really done a number on his tolerance levels.

"I know. This is from the gentleman over there." the bearded man replied, gesturing over to where a young guy who looked to be in his late twenties waved at him shyly.

The kid was overdressed for such a dive, and his eyes were wide with innocence. Try as he might, Dean couldn't find it in him to refuse the drink. Accepting the fruity concoction and raising it up, Dean nodded stiffly and smiled back. The younger man jerked up, clearly surprised with this reaction, and started to get up. Nervous, but somewhat intrigued by the kid, Dean tried to school his features into what he hoped was a charming smile. Though he'd had less practice with seducing men on purpose, Dean knew his smile was enough to convince most people to leave a crowded area. Instead of heading Dean's way, however, the strange benefactor was approached by three men who looked to be around his age. Slapping the young guy on the back, Dean saw one of them hand him a few bills. Ah, so it was that kind of drink. Dean thought.

Turning sharply back to the drink in front of him, he called the nearest bartender over, the big, burly one who'd served him earlier, to take it away and replaced it with another whiskey, double. Ignoring the burn on his face and the back of his throat, Dean downed the double, and ordered another by tapping his glass twice without looking up. It was nearing the end of the night now, and the group of guys who'd just embarrassed Dean were one of the last ones in the bar. One scrawny old man perched quietly in a booth, surveying the room with an unsettling empty glare as he sipped on his clear drink. Other than that, the bar was clearly winding down for the night.

Dean was staring morosely at the glass in his hand, contemplating leaving, when another different drink appeared like magic in front of him. What now? he thought, looking up from his hands, ready to confront the next unknown gifter. A pair of blue eyes stared kindly back at him.

"Hello, Dean." said a familiar deep voice. Damn , Dean thought stupidly, that's not how I remembered this dork sounding. Dean opened his mouth to reply in kind, but the only thing that came out was a large belch.

Mortified, Dean hurried to cover his mouth and tipped over the drink the man had placed in front of him. Cursing, Dean struggled to mop up the mess with the flimsy napkin he had been given with his drink. Cas had disappeared, and Dean couldn't help but envy the man's choice to leave. It had all happened so fast that Dean wondered if maybe he'd hallucinated the man. Just as Dean was considering the complicated task of retrieving his wallet out of his back pocket to pay for the obviously excessive amount of alcohol he had consumed, Castiel reappeared with a rag and a new drink. Dean did his best not to openly gape.

"Uh, hi." he began eloquently.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel repeated, setting down the drink. "I believe we've gone through this part."

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Dean gestures to the now-clean counter.

"You are forgiven." Castiel replied, and Dean was hit with his earnest blue stare once again.

Unsettled, Dean looked down to his glass.

"This isn't a whiskey." Dean stated, noticing the telltale pale yellow of the drink in front of him.

"It's lemonade…" Castiel started to say, and Dean's alcohol ridden brain wasn't fast enough to catch the shake of his head.

"Dude. No. I'm -" he began, but Castiel held up his hand.

"Trying to forget something through means of heavy intoxication." Cas finished for him. Dean closed his mouth, eyes wide. Castiel rested his hand back down on the counter as he continued.

"Yes, I noticed. If I thought I could convince you to drink it, I would have switched you to water much earlier tonight. As it is, I've mixed lemonade and bourbon. It's fresh squeezed, I made it myself." When Dean still didn't take a sip, Castiel leaned in conspiratorially. "I promise it's just as good as what I gave you yesterday." Eyes never leaving Dean's, his voice dropped even lower. "If not better."

Castiel stayed there, inches away from Dean's face, for a beat. Then, grinning, Castiel winked at Dean and leaned back, tapping both hands on the edge of the counter as if it was all a joke. Dean, who was busy pretending not to feel the burn creeping up his neck, floundered for a moment before he closed his mouth and lifted the glass to his lips.

The unique tang of Cas' sweeter-than-most lemonade filled his mouth. As he swallowed, he tasted the familiar bite of bourbon hit the back of his throat and the combination wasn't as bad as he expected. Still, it was lemonade, and Dean hated lemonade. Didn't he? It was hard to remember when Cas was staring at him again. This time, however, Dean could see, even in the low light of the bar, as Cas tracked the movement of Dean's tongue when he licked his lips, that his pupils dilated.

"Hey Cas," he started, suddenly brave. "Do you wanna get outta here?" he said, leering openly at the man behind the counter. Cas' eyes widened further.

"Well, for one, you haven't finished your drink," Cas replied after a moment, and Dean made to down the offensive thing. Cas held the glass firmly against the counter. "And for two, I am not done my shift." Cas added, expression wry. "But, I propose a deal: you switch to water after this drink, and we 'get out of here' as you suggested in twenty minutes, after I finish up my shift. Sound good?"

Dean had only been half listened as Cas talked and jerked his gaze up from where it had been following the tiny patterns he had been drawing into Cas' fore arm.

"Huh?" he said intelligently, and Cas dutifully repeated the terms. Shrugging noncommittally, Dean muttered something unintelligible. while returning to his previous engagement of touching Cas' skin.

"Hmm. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm afraid I only accept explicit consent." Cas started apologetically, and, as if sensing the rejection in his voice, Dean straightened in his stool.

"Mmkay. Yeah. Yes. Bring me a water!" he announced happily, and Cas smiled indulgently.

"Fine. But you're drinking two of those at least before leaving tonight." Cas admonished, scurrying off to find Dean some water.

It was close to forty five minutes later that Dean was getting shaken awake on the bar stool.

"Wha?" he said intelligently. The familiar crystal gaze was filled with concern as it gazed into his eyes.

"I knew I should have sent you home in a cab. Dean, Do you have a way home?" he asked, concerned, but Dean just smiled sleepily.

"Yes." he claimed, smiling widely. "I'm lookin' right at it."

Dean got to his feet unsteadily. "Cas, baby, take me home tonight." Dean said, his speech slurred with alcohol and sleep. Cas looked around for a moment, as if unsure. Then, seeming to make a decision, he manhandled Dean from the stool, and half carried him to the door of the bar.

"You gonna carry me over the threshold, baby?" Dean said, nose brushing up against Cas' ear.

"If you cannot hold yourself upright, then I expect so, yes." Cas said, ignoring the shiver that ran up his spine at the whispered words.

"Aw, what a gentleman! You know what they say, Cas…" Dean said as they stumbled towards a toyota camry. Dean stopped, so that Cas was forced to stop too. He looked up at Cas expectantly, apparently awaiting his answer.

"No, Dean, what do they say?" Cas said finally, suppressing an eye roll.

"You always want a lady in the street, but a FREAK IN THE SHEETS!" Dean yelled, tackling Cas to the side of his camry, assaulting his neck in kisses.

"Dean." Cas said warningly. "Dean. Please stop, I just want to bring you home." he plead tightly. At the word home, Dean froze.

"Can't." he said, resuming his attack on Cas' neck. "Don't have a home." he mumbled, and Cas tried valiantly to keep from carding his hands through the man's hair. Realizing his only choice was trickery, Cas made a decision.

"Dean. You need to listen to me." he said, adopting the firmest voice he could manage as Dean sucked what would probably end up a substantial hickey into his collarbone. Dean looked up, pausing his shenanigans.

"Yes, sir." Dean said, a gleam in his eye. Cas tried to ignore the feeling that elicited.

"We can't do this here. Come home with me." Cas said in his huskiest voice, and Dean let out a loud groan.

"Yeah, baby, let's go." he mumbled into Cas' neck, and delivered a short peck to his mouth before sauntering over to the passenger's side. Sighing at his predicament, Cas reluctantly entered the car after him and they began their journey to Cas' place.

Castiel had spent the better part of their ride home attempting to stop Dean from unbuckling his seatbelt to lean over and paw at Castiel's crotch. Forty minutes was a very long time to be driving with a very inebriated Dean. The situation was not facilitated by Castiel's view, either. He struggled to keep his eyes on the road for the sake of their safety, but the task soon proved to be near inconceivable as Dean began to disrobe within the first ten minutes.

"Please, Dean." Castiel pleaded, eyes itching to watch the man beside him. But his request went unheeded as Castiel saw Dean take off his flannel shirt to reveal a thin grey shirt underneath.

"S'hot, Cas." Dean complained, and Castiel tried not to notice the bead of sweat that rolled down Dean's throat. Keeping his eyes trained frontwards; he ignored the movement out of the corner of his eye as Dean fanned himself.

"Havin' a tough time there, Cas?" Dean drawled from the passenger seat, and Castiel shifted as he turned his blinker on. "Maybe we should pull over." Came Dean's thick voice. "Or I could..." Castiel heard the click of the seatbelt for the third time. "Multitask." He finished, and his warm hands traveled up Castiel's thigh.

"Dean!" he cried sharply, and Dean paused slightly in his ministrations. "Please. Please try and..." Castiel lost track of his sentence as Dean's fumbling fingers gave up on buttons and reached instead for the growing bulge in Castiel's tight jeans. He took a steadying breath. "Dean. Try and... and occupy yourself please! I'm driving and this is dangerous." He tried again, exhaling sharply when Dean's warmth receded from his lap.

"Okay." Dean said, and Castiel could hear the smirk in his voice. "I'll occupy." He continued. Castiel was relieved to hear the click of a seatbelt. A few seconds later, he glanced over to see Dean sitting up straight. His innocent wide eyed stare contrasted starkly with the smirk that stayed firmly in place. "I'll be so good, Cas." Dean said solemly as Castiel focused on the road. "'Gotta focus on the road. 'Gotta be really safe." Dean continued to mumble, and Castiel nodded absently, relieved that the assault on his self control had finally given way to drunken babbling. Then, to his horror, Castiel heard the sound of a zipper. He gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"Dean." He said warningly, but it came out as more of a growl.

"You jus' – you just focus 'n the road, mmkay baby? I'll stay over here, I'll be good." Dean was babbling, and Castiel became totally engrossed with the wide stretch of empty road in front of him.

Dean is severely inebriated, Castiel repeated silently to himself. He does not know what he is doing. You are here to keep him safe, nothing else.

He heard Dean make a sound at the back of his throat that strongly resembled a whimper and Castiel bit back a string of curses.

"Mm. Yeah. I'll be so good, baby." Dean was mumbling at his side. Castiel both wished he would stop and continue forever. "I'll be so good for you, Cas, make it so good. Yeah, baby, just like that."

Stealing a look sideways, Castiel could see Dean had begun to palm himself through his boxers, eyes closed and bottom lip trapped under his front teeth. The car jerked a little to the right, and Dean's eyes flew open.

"Like what you see here, Cas? Gettin' a little dis'racted?" Dean taunted. Castiel diligently kept his eyes forward.

"Dean, we're almost there." Castiel beseeched, voice breaking a little. Seeing it only encourage Dean further, Castiel was suddenly reminded of how he had managed to get Dean to comply earlier. Taking a deep breath, Castiel reached over to still Dean's hand in his lap.

"Dean." He said, lowering his voice, and he spared a glance long enough to see Dean's eyes snap open, green irises dilated to black. "Stop." Castiel said, tone commanding. He saw Dean swallow. "This," he continued, squeezing Dean's hand where he had been palming his erection. "is mine." He growled. Dean obeyed immediately, face flushing a pretty pink, which made the freckles on his nose stand out. Castiel tried not to think about how easy it was to slip into the role.

"Good boy." Castiel murmured, unable to stop himself. Dean's lips parted in surprise and red bloomed brighter across his cheeks. He dropped his hands to his sides and immediately stared through the windshield, effectively chastised.

Soon enough, Castiel was pulling up to his driveway. As he parked the car, he looked over to find a snoring Dean in the passenger seat. A thin line of drool that had turned a spot on his shoulder dark grey should have been disgusting, yet Castiel found himself smiling fondly. He got out of his seat and walked around to the passenger door. Opening it carefully, Castiel took the opportunity to observe his companion a little closer. Long lashes threw shadows on high cheekbones under Castiel's gaze. His eyes then fell on the plush lips of his unconscious passenger, travelling down to where a collarbone peeked through the unbuttoned collar of his Henley. Lower, his shirt was rucked up to reveal his left hipbone, where an undone fly showed a pair of plaid boxers riding low enough that Castiel could spot a patch of dark, wiry hair, incongruous with the soft, dirty blonde hair that he wore short on his head.

Castiel jumped suddenly at the realization that he had been staring at the sleeping man for several minutes now and debated the best method of waking his impromptu guest without startling him. He settled on laying a hand on his left shoulder and saying his name softly.

"Dean."

"Wha? Huh?" Dean exclaimed, sitting up straight.

"I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you." Castiel said immediately, hand still resting on Dean's shoulder.

"Mmmh." Dean smiled sleepily, rubbing one eye with the heel of his right hand. "S'okay." He mumbled through a yawn, "I thought maybe you'd been a dream, Lemonade Stand Guy. But you're real, aren't you?"

Castiel smiled despite himself.

"Yes, Dean. I am real." He hesitated. "Do you... Do you remember what happened?"

Castiel bit his lip. Though it had only been a short nap, Castiel feared Dean might be disoriented and require an explanation as to why a strange man had decided to take him home.

"Mmyeah. You were gonna take me home and ravish me." Dean said, spreading his arms wide and giggling. Castiel shook his head.

"I promised no such thing." He replied firmly, and Dean pouted. Castiel ignored the dip of Dean's cupid bow, but concentrating on Dean's long lashed emerald gaze did not help either.

"You said!" Dean insisted, crossing his arms, and Castiel sighed deeply.

If getting Dean into the car at the bar had been a challenge, getting him out was nearing on the impossible.

"Dean." He said warningly, and the green eyed man looked up at him lazily.

"'Like it when you're bossy, Cas." Dean grinned, licking his lips. Castiel eyes automatically dropped to Dean's disappearing tongue. Dean laughed, triumphant.

"You like it when you're bossy, too!" he exclaimed, fist pumping once in the air. "I knew it!" he said, and got up from the car, almost knocking Castiel over in his excitement. Castiel attempted to give Dean room to stand up properly, but the other man was not having it.

"C'mon, Cas. I was so good for you." Dean whined, mouth back on Cas' neck. "Gimme some of that sweet lemonade, baby." Dean said, swaying his hips.

Castiel couldn't hold back his snort of laughter at that. Dean pulled Castiel away, eyeing him suspiciously at arm's length.

"You laughin' at my seducing skills?" Dean asked, eyes narrowed. Instead of denying it, Castiel simply raised an eyebrow. "Alright, alright." Dean sighed. "Not my best line. But c'mon Cas. Let's get it on."

Castiel lowered his eyes, shaking his head.

"As much as I would very much enjoy ravishing you with some lemonade... I think it would be best if we refrained from engaging in any activities of a sexual nature tonight, Dean." Castiel said reluctantly. Dean made an unhappy sound that very much resembled a whine.

"Come on." Castiel said firmly, taking Dean's hand and walking towards the entrance of the house. "Bed."

Dean let himself be dragged to the door, but stopped point blank before crossing the threshold. Frowning, Castiel looked back at him.

"I don't wanna." Dean said petulantly, and Castiel sighed heavily, returning outside in the night air.

"Dean..." he began, but Dean shook his head adamantly, a glint of mischief in his eye.

They stayed like that for a moment. Castiel still held Dean's hand in his, and Dean stood on the porch, feet firmly planted a foot apart. Then, suddenly tired of the game, Castiel stooped down to put one arm behind Dean's knees. Caught off guard, Dean tumbled gracelessly backwards into Castiel's ready embrace, sputtering. Castiel then straightened, one hand firmly grasping Dean around his waist, the other curled under his popliteus. Dean's neck was close enough that he could smell his cologne underneath the alcohol. He couldn't resist placing a tiny kiss against the strong cords of it. Hopefully he will not remember this tomorrow morning. Castiel thought guiltily, crossing the threshold and moving up the stairs to the guest room. Once arrived at his destination, Castiel dumped Dean unceremoniously on the large bed.

"Mmpf!" came Dean's indignant voice. "You carried me over the threshold, you finally gonna have your way with me now, huh Cas?" he said, shrugging out of his jeans already. Castiel turned away.

"As I said earlier, I believe it would be best for you to get some sleep, Dean." Castiel said, not without pausing at the doorway before leaving. "Goodnight." He said quietly, and made to leave the room.

"Wait! Cas!" came Dean's voice, and Castiel was loathe to ignore it. "I'm sorry, okay?" he said, rising from the bed. Castiel turned around slowly, taking in the half naked man before him. "Can I..." Dean said, hand at the back of his head. "Can I maybe sleepwithyou?" he finished quickly, words tumbling over each other. Castiel tilted his head, considering.

"By sleeping, do you mean engaging in sexual intercourse, Dean? Because I believe I have made it abundantly clear that I do not wish to—" Castiel began, but Dean rushed up and cut him off.

"No, God. I meant... I jus' meant sleep, man, Cas. 'Don't wanna sleep here all alone." Dean mumbled, his face turning that lovely shade of pink again. Castiel fought to say no to those freckles. He lost.

"Alright." He said, turning away again. Dean perked up immediately. "Follow me, then." Castiel said resignedly and crossed the hallway to his room, Dean in tow.

After Castiel had showed Dean where to find some clothes he could sleep in and an extra toothbrush he was free to use, they both settled into bed. It was almost... domestic.

Castiel lied on his back, trying to ignore the sounds of a very warm, very willing Dean settling in beside him. For a few minutes, they both lied stock still, two inches apart. Castiel could hear the steady breaths of his companion slow down, but he could somehow tell Dean hadn't fallen asleep yet. He counted the seconds in his head, unable to find sleep despite the late hour.

Then, after a few more minutes spent in awkward silence, Dean stirred, turning onto his side, facing Castiel. Castiel remained motionless, staring up at the ceiling with renewed and pointed interest. Dean huffed.

"Hey." He said finally, hand coming up to tap lightly on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel turned reluctantly to face Dean. Their gazes met, and Castiel found his body rolling over onto his side without his permission. Dean's face broke out into a smile as his hands traveled under the shared covers to meet Castiel's.

"Hi." Dean repeated.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel replied solemnly. They both hadn't broken eye contact.

Dean let go of Cas' hand for a moment to cover up a yawn.

"You should go to sleep." Castiel said, brow furrowing at the crack of Dean's jaw, but his words held no bite.

"I can't." Dean replied, hand coming up to cuff Castiel lightly on the chin, only to return to Castiel's empty hand under the covers. "Don't wanna stop lookin' at you." Dean said, eyes crinkling at the corners. The answer caught Castiel unawares, and it was his turn to flush red at the sincerity in Dean's voice. Heart beating wildly, Castiel squeezed Dean's hand harder, pulling him close. Then, covering up his uncertainty, Castiel let go of Dean's hand to paw at those beautiful hipbones. Manhandling him into position, Castiel turned his body so that Dean faced away from him. Grabbing Dean's hand once more, he splayed their fingers possessively over Dean's abdomen, nestling his chin on Dean's left shoulder. Dean chuckled.

"There's the bossy lemonade stand guy I know." Castiel thought he heard Dean mumble, but he ignored it in favor of dropping an open mouthed kiss onto Dean's t-shirt covered shoulder.

"Goodnight, Dean." He murmured against the skin of his neck.

"'Night, Cas." Dean mumbled back.

Dean had to pee. Dean had to pee really, really badly. He shifted in his half-sleeping state, groaning at the headache that immediately flared at the movement. Oh Shit, he thought dully. I'm hungover. It had been a few months since the rolling nausea of bad decisions was the first thing to greet him in the morning and he had not missed the unwelcome feeling. Squinting against the light behind his eyelids, Dean attempted to open his eyes. Cursing inwardly, he slumped back against his pillow, thinking back to the night before instead.

Slowly the events from his alcoholic adventures came back to him fuzzily: cleaning out his father's house, getting into a fight with Sam, meeting... Oh. Shit.

"Oh shit," Dean said out loud this time. Someone stirred underneath the covers behind him as Dean tried to sit up. Suddenly, the mass of blankets sat straight up, a mass of unruly black hair poking through the white linens.

"Damn." came the telltale growly voice of Dean's bedfellow. Dean grimaced.

"Hey. I know I'm not the prettiest sight in the morning, but..." Dean started, but his throat was raspy from sleep and dehydration.

"What?" Castiel barked, apparently only just noticing Dean's presence. "No."

Dean raised his eyebrows in question, but Castiel only groaned, hand coming up to rub his jaw.

"I meant to put on an alarm this morning and get you breakfast, but I got... distracted." Castiel said, disentangling their limbs and emerging from what looked like seven different covers to reach down to the floor. Retrieving his jeans from the night before, he searched the pockets until he came up with his cell phone. Sighing when he squinted at the time, he set it on the night table. "You were very... persistent." Castiel groused, and Dean blushed to the roots of his hair. Castiel seemed nonplussed as he burrowed back into the covers though.

"Too late now anyway, I suppose." Castiel mumbled into Dean's neck, wrapping his arms around his waist once more. He was back asleep within minutes, breath coming in warm little puffs at the back of Dean's neck. Dean couldn't suppress a grin at the large cat like man currently spooning him. He should have been embarrassed about the night before, but all he could think about was the weight of Cas' arms against his ribs.

Soon, however, Dean's bladder drew his thoughts away from the comfort of Castiel's embrace. Wincing slightly, Dean attempted to extricate himself gently from Castiel's grip. Unfortunately, it seemed, moving was not on Castiel's agenda for the day. Pulling a bit harder at the vice like grip on his torso, Dean let out the breath he had been holding, trying not to wake the man beside him.

Startling awake, Castiel's hands tightened automatically around Dean's.

"Where are you going?" came the grumpy sleep addled voice of his bedmate. Dean grimaced again.

"Cas. I gotta pee," Dean whined as the hands applied pressure to his nearly bursting bladder.

"Very well, sweetheart... Just come back...soon..." Castiel replied, eyes still closed as he rolled over onto his back. Dean was halfway out of the bed before he realized what Cas had called him. He also realized he had no idea where the bathroom was.

"Cas," he whispered urgently, but the man paid him no mind. "Cas!" he said again, shaking the man's shoulder.

Castiel's eyes snapped open and he sprung up from the mattress. Looking up at Dean with wide eyes, he seemed to finally understand their predicament. Flushing a dark shade of pink, Castiel tried to get out of bed, already babbling.

"Oh. Dean! Dean, I apologize! I'm not..." Castiel replied frantically, "I'm not usually this way in the morning... I..." Castiel trailed off at the sight of Dean in his shirt and boxers, practically dancing from foot to foot.

"Right! Bathroom!" he said brighty, and his blush spread to his bare chest. "It's... I'll just show you." He said and spread his palm forward for Dean to lead the way. They walked out of the bedroom and into a hallway painted grey. The walls were bare, and Dean could not for the life of him remember coming through here at all.

Thankfully, before Dean could concentrate further on what happened the night before, Castiel was pulling him into a room to the left and showing him where the guest towels were.

"Here. Once again, I apologize for my informality earlier. I hope I did not make you feel uncomfortable." Castiel said, looking Dean straight in the eye. Dean swallowed thickly.

"Feel free to take your time. I will prepare breakfast in the mean time." Castiel continued, but paused before leaving. "Oh. I almost forgot!"

He moved towards Dean, reached around him and plucking something off the shelf above the white sink. "Here. Take two." He said, rattling a bottle of ibuprofen in front of Dean. "It'll help with the headache."

And before Dean could protest that he was fine and didn't need coddling, Castiel was out the door and down the hall. Dean was left alone with his thoughts. He first relieved his bladder, and then moved on to the next order of business, showering.

Grumbling about "bossy lemonade makers" and "cuddly bastard", Dean took in his surroundings. The bathroom was large enough, with a very enticing shower in one corner that had obviously been added recently. Dean barely registered the pale yellow accents on the white tile when he noticed the body jets places all along the wall of the pristine shower stall.

"Oh hell yes." He said, not caring about how loud he was as he rushed to turn on the faucets.

Dean shirked off his t-shirt and boxers and stepped into the hot water. Humming in delight, he stood under the spray of the shower for a moment, letting himself relax. Thoughts about last night eventually creeped back into his mind though.

He had gotten drunk at the bar, he remembered that much. Then Castiel had appeared out of nowhere and given him more lemonade. Then... Oh.

Suddenly scenes from the night before were clamoring for attention in Dean's brain as he lathered himself in Cas' lemon scented bodywash. Asking, no begging Cas to take him home, his assault on Cas' neck by the car, a hazy memory of Dean's hands on himself in the car: it was all rushing back in Technicolor. Then, oh God , the "sir". His dick perked up in interest at the thought, but arousal was quickly overtaken by shame. He had begged. He had clung to this man he barely knew. And had Castiel ended up carrying Dean over the threshold? Oh, God. Dean cringed, hands frozen with the bee-shaped loofah held tight to his chest. His brain chose that moment to supply him with the memory of Dean asking Cas to sleep with him.

Dean Winchester did not cuddle.

Clenching his jaw stubbornly, Dean pushed the memories from his mind. He was plastered. It wasn't his fault. It was the damn lemonade stand guy turned bartender with his mixed drinks and blue eyes. If Cas said a word about last night, Dean would just pretend he didn't remember. He was wasted. Who could blame him? Dean scrubbed at his skin until it turned pink and finished up his shower.

Dean smelled the bacon from the hallway when he emerged in a towel from the bathroom. He was glad Castiel was downstairs because he had forgotten to bring clothes with him. Once he navigated the hallway to arrive at Cas' bedroom, he noticed some clothes neatly piled at the foot of the bed. Approaching it cautiously, Dean noticed a note on top:

Dean,

I apologize again for being such a careless host this morning. I chose a few items of clothing of mine that appeared to be close to your size. I thought you might enjoy a clean wardrobe after your morning shower.

(P.S.: If you would rather wear the same clothing from last night, please feel free to do so. I took the liberty of stowing your clothes in a laundry bag.)

C.

Indeed, Dean spotted his Eye of the Tiger t-shirt poking out of a reusable pink laundry bag a little ways away. He could easily have slipped it back on, but the temptation of clean clothes was too strong to ignore. He slipped the ACDC shirt Castiel had left out for him over his head, and pulled on a pair of grey boxer-briefs. They were a bit loose, though, so after some experimental wiggling, Dean slipped out of them, deciding to forego underwear entirely. Instead, he put on the pair of jeans Cas had selected and zipped them up. They were a bit loose around the waist, so they rode low on Dean's hips. The shirt was also loose, but shorter than Dean was used to. He pulled on the hem of it self-consciously when the soft spot on his abdomen peeked through as he lifted his arms in an attempt to tame his hair.

Glancing at the mirror again, Dean sighed resignedly and shook his head.

"C'mon, man," he muttered sternly to his reflection. "He's just a dude. A weird, dorky little dude who helped you out one time. Get it together."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, suddenly appearing at the doorframe. Dean cursed.

"Hey, Cas," Dean replied, cheeks burning. "What's up?"

"Breakfast is ready, if you'd like some!"Castiel said brightly, but Dean couldn't miss the glint in his eye as he turned back towards the hallway. "Come down whenever you're ready!" he called back, and Dean exhaled loudly through his nose.

"This is fuckin' good, Cas," Dean was saying a minute later, chewing a mouthful of eggs. Castiel beamed at him from his stance in front of the toaster on the kitchen counter opposite.

"It's even better with a little honey on it," Castiel replied, and returned to the small dining table with toast on a plate and a jug. Dean looked up at the smell of toast, but grimaces at the tell-tale yellow liquid sloshing in the clear receptacle. "I'm telling you," Castiel hurriedly added, misunderstanding Dean's grimace, "It seems unorthodox, but the honey really complements the eggs; you should try it! Besides," Castiel said in a conspiratorial tone, "honey has many health benefits. It contains a very high amount of fructose, a form of sugar that speeds up oxidation of alcohol in your system."

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel.

"It is helpful when one has... overindulged the night before," Castiel explained, a smirk playing on his lips. Dean blushed scarlet and accepted the toast and drink wordlessly. At Castiel's pointed stare, he even added a small amount of honey onto his eggs. Castiel beamed.

"So, uh, listen," Dean started, clearing his throat loudly, "about- about the uh, over..." Dean stopped himself before he could say the word indulgence while looking Castiel in the eye. Castiel waited patiently. "About last night," he began again, and Castiel finally held up his hand where he sat to Dean right.

"There is no need for explanations, Dean. You had obviously had a difficult evening. I had noticed the fight with your brother before he left. You were clearly seeking respite from a bad mood in the form of heavy intoxication," Castiel said calmly, and Dean nodded again.

"Exactly," he said, uncertain. "And whatever I did, or say- or didn't do or didn't say... I just..."

"You do not remember your actions or words and do not wish for them to influence my judgment of your character," Castiel finished for him, and Dean was once again left gaping.

"Yeah," Dean said dumbly. "Exactly."

"Well," said Castiel crisply, hands clasped in front of him on the table, " in that case, I'd like to clarify that I only agreed to share a bed as a safety precaution, as I was loathe to leave you alone in your intoxicated state. I would like to assure you that nothing untoward transpired between us. I prefer my sexual conquests to be fully conscious and consensual."

Castiel's phrasing suddenly reminded Dean of his words last night. I'm afraid I only accept explicit consent. He blushed dark at the memory, as well as the effect the words still had on him this morning. He shifted uncomfortable in his seat.

"You worried about my virtue, Cas?" Dean tried for flippant, but the words came out in a croak.

"I simply wished to clarify, given your apparent inability to recollect last night's events," Castiel replied calmly, but Dean saw his gaze shift to Dean's collar, following the blush that had no doubt spread there.

"Right. Exactly," Dean agreed, bringing his hand up to rub his neck, cursing as Cas' eyes dropped to his strip of exposed stomach. "Exactly. So... If you could—Maybe if we could just pretend..."

Castiel's eyes snapped back to Dean's and he was assaulted with the intensity of his sincere blue gaze.

"I will be sure to strike all that happened last night from my memories of our time together," Castiel said firmly, but his eyes held a curious sparkle.

Dean's already flaming cheeks burned brighter at Castiel's phrasing. Then, as if reading Dean's mind, Castiel's gaze grew downright mischievous.

"That is, of course, on one condition," he said lowly, chin dropping but gaze still locked on Dean's.

"W-What's that?" Dean asked, eyes wide, unable to tear his eyes away now.

"That you give me the opportunity to make up for this morning's discourtesy. Would you like to accompany me to the farmer's market today, Dean? Anna is tending to the stand, but I would love to repay you for your patience with me earlier," Castiel said, and Dean could hear the unspoken deal. I'll take you to the farmer's market and we can both pretend my arms weren't wrapped around you and your mouth never formed the words "yes, sir".

Castiel stared at Dean a little longer.

"I could text your brother Sam and he could pick you up directly from there, if you'd like," Castiel said, coaxing an answer out of Dean. At the mention of his brother's name, however, Dean was startled back to reality. The past twelve hours or so had been surreal, but he knew he had left Sam in a bad place. Cursing, Dean pushed his chair back from the table.

"Or I could drop you off at your home, of course," Cas was mumbling, and Dean stopped in his tracks.

"No, Cas," he said, turning back to look at the man who was now staring determinedly at his lap. "Hold on, okay? I gotta text Sammy." And Dean turned and ran up the stairs to his phone. Seeing it laying on the bedside table next to Cas' made Dean want to smile irrationally as he picked it up and dialed Sam's number off by heart. Selecting , Dean quickly informed Sam of his activities last night.

Stayed over at someone's place. Sorry I didn't text. Getting a ride to the farmer's market later. C u there?

Dean tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter. He knew his brother wouldn't keep him waiting. Sure enough, his phone chimed with a new message.

Sounds good. Just finishing up the living room. I can be there around two.

Dean glanced at the time indicator on his phone. Eleven thirty. That gave them plenty of time. Dean walked back into the hallway and down the stairs to where Castiel stood at the sink cleaning dishes.

"Hey, you made breakfast, you don't need to do that," Dean protested, walking over.

"It's no trouble, Dean," Castiel said quietly, and Dean finally remembered to share his plan. Grabbing a dish towel to dry, Dean hip checked Castiel so he would move over.

"Aw, come on, it's no trouble," Dean responded cheerfully. "Besides, this'll give us more time to go to the market together, right? Gotta make it up to me for all that grumbling in bed," Dean said, and tried to ignore the way the tips of his ears burned at the mention of them sharing a bed. Castiel stopped washing the plate in his hands and gazed up at Dean for a moment with a look of pure adoration. Dean couldn't help but grin back. Clearing his throat, Castiel returned to his gentle dish washing.

"Shall I text Sam?" he inquired calmly, but Dean could have sworn he heard an undertone of excitement. Dean shook his head.

"Nah, I told him I'd be meeting him there at two," Dean said carefully. Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought maybe you and I could walk around a little beforehand? Get to know each other a bit better? At least so it's less awkward the next time we call each other... sweetheart. " Dean said, covering up his nervousness with a teasing remark. Castiel was too busy staring up at Dean with wide eyes.

"Dean Winchester, are you asking me out on a date?" Castiel asked, hitting Dean on the arm with the wet sponge.

"Hey! Watch it, man, you'll get my clothes wet!" Dean cried, but he was smiling too.

"I believe those are my clothes, Mr. Winchester, and you have yet to answer my question," Castiel replied, yellow gloved hands coming to rest on hips, fingertips wetting the edges of his blue and white plaid apron. A goddamn apron, Dean thought absently.

"Well, I mean, if you want it to be..." Dean replied hesitantly, and when Castiel's face showed no change, he plowed on. "Yes. Castiel... Damn, I don't know your last name," Dean said, and Castiel's mouth twitched. "Castiel Whatever-your-last-name-is, will you go out with me to the farmer's market where you work in the middle of the day?" Dean said finally, the words jumbling together in one breath.

All Dean could register was the wet sound of a sponge hitting the floor before Castiel was yanking his face down towards his, rubbery gloves sending soapy water down Dean's neck.

The kiss was brief. Dean barely had time to taste Cas' soft, but dry mouth against his before Castiel pulled away. Dean found himself chasing his lips, but Castiel put a hand to his now-damp chest.

"Yes," Castiel said breathlessly, kissing Dean chastely on the cheek. He turned back to the sink and pulled the drain as if nothing had transpired. Dean stood gaping for a moment when Castiel spoke again.

"Dean. You should be getting ready," he said, but Dean simply stared at the shorter man wearing an apron and yellow gloves.

"Go on!" Castiel insisted, and Dean closed his mouth to obey.

Just as he was bending down, struggling to hold up his loose fitting jeans with one hand while tightening the laces on his boot with the other, he heard Castiel call out from the kitchen.

"Milton!" the muffled voice came, and Dean frowned at the outburst.

"What?" he replied, confused. Castiel entered in the hallway and Dean was momentarily distracted by the sight of the man in an honest-to-God pink v-neck. The jeans Castiel wore slung obscenely low on his hips and Dean could not stop staring at muscles flexing in his arm as he reached up to rub his jaw.

"Milton," Castiel repeated as he reached down for his own shoes: a pair of mismatched converse. "My last name is Milton." Castiel looked up to grin at Dean, and Dean smiled goofily back.

Castiel Milton, Lemonade Stand Guy, thought Dean, smiling to himself. They made their way out of the house.

As soon as they got to the market, Castiel could tell something was bothering Dean. The man exited the car quickly, but then stood silent as Castiel followed suit. Frowning, Castiel tilted his head, considering Dean's posture. His eyes stayed glued to the floor and his hand came to play at the hem of Castiel's shirt as he bit his lip. Castiel's mouth twitched. Dean was nervous. It was laughable, really.

From the moment Castiel had spotted Dean with his brother, Castiel had equated the man with light: bright, exuberant, radiant. Even as he watched Sam dragging Dean across stalls, the man spoke with a wide grin, gesticulated often, and most of the time succeeded in making his brother smile. Once, when Castiel had glanced their way, he had witnessed Dean laugh. Sam was listening intently as Tim, the chard vendor, explained the health benefits of the admittedly disgusting vegetable. Dean had clearly been ignoring the two deep in conversation, until Sam had offered Dean what Castiel knew to be a "chard-shot". Dean had stared at the green liquid offered to him for moment. Then, suddenly, he had thrown back his head, mouth wide, in a laugh loud enough that Castiel could hear it over the clamoring Saturday crowd. He could not recall having ever seen such a beautiful sight. The image left him with one word: sunshine.

The man who stood meekly in front of him now was the complete opposite. Hunched over, Dean stared resolutely at the ground until Castiel approached him.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, and Dean's gaze rose immediately to meet his. His lip remained trapped between his teeth, however, and his harlequin eyes were wide with what appeared to be anxiety. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, Dean's nervousness vanished.

"Heya, Cas," he said. But Castiel detected a small strain in his voice that hadn't been there this morning. "Ready for our date?" Dean waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, smiling again. It wasn't the full-bodied laugh he had been privy to in the past, but Castiel would take the fake cocky grin offered now just as well.

"Actually, I'm not sure. I'm having second thoughts," Castiel said, hands in his pockets as he stopped by Dean's side. Dean stopped in his tracks, turning incredulous eyes back to Castiel. He couldn't stop his mouth twitching again at the sight of Dean so startled and confused.

"You little shit," Dean muttered, and grabbed Castiel by the shoulder, walking into the market without turning back.

They walked side by side in silence for a while. Dean's nervous energy was back, and Castiel cursed his own apparent loss in the ability to make conversation. What did people talk about? The weather? Castiel looked up at the sky for inspiration, but the clouds obscured the sunshine. He considered commenting on the unseasonable breeze when his eyes caught on the honey stand nearby.

"Did you know that bees don't hibernate? They cluster for warmth," Castiel blurted out without thinking, hoping to put Dean at ease. Dean turned to him, eyebrows raised, as they continued to walk aimlessly by Rita's kale stand.

"Uh. Okay…"he said, eyes narrowing. "You cold or something, Cas?" Dean asked, brow furrowing. Castiel assessed his comfort with regards to temperature.

"No," he answered slowly, wondering if he has misunderstood the question.

"Okay…" Dean said again, but the confusion on his face didn't leave.

They continued walking in silence.

"They vibrate their wings. To stay warm in the winter," Castiel tried again, and Dean looks down at him again, concern now present in his questioning stare.

"You need me to put my arm 'round you or somethin', Cas? 'Cause you can just ask, you know…" Dean starts, but Castiel cuts him off with an indignant squawk.

"Dean Winchester. I have watched you masturbate in the passenger seat of my car. If I wanted you to touch me, I would make my intentions plain," Castiel said, and Dean stopped in his tracks. Mouth working, Dean glared at Castiel for a moment. Then, his expression changed, and suddenly he was laughing. Castiel's frown melted at the sight, though his confusion at the outburst had not abated. Once Dean had stopped laughing, he smirked knowingly at Cas.

"So you were me watching, then," he said, smile widening at the drop of Castiel's mouth.

"I…" Castiel started, but then Dean started laughing again. Castiel definitely did not pout.

Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder and started walking again. The tension was gone from his shoulders though, so Castiel could not find it in him to complain that he was apparently the butt of the joke. After a moment, Dean turned again to look at Castiel.

"Alright, well, if you're so comfortable with asking me to touch you," Dean started, and Castiel opened his mouth to protest at his unfortunate phrasing. Dean held up a hand. "What\s with all the bee facts?"

Castiel tilted his head again.

"I fail to comprehend what bees have to do with my ability to regulate my temperature…" Castiel replied uncertainly.

"Well… You're cold, right? You wanted to cluster together? Like the bees?" Dean said, and he wiggled his fingers in what Castiel took to be an approximation of bee's wings. Castiel snorted loudly.

"Dean. Bees cluster in order to protect their queen from freezing to death. It's an ingenious method of heat conservation, but I assure you I would inform you if I was in any danger of freezing to death," Castiel replied calmly, though his voice broke a little at the ridiculousness of Dean's words.

They had stopped at a stand advertising tomatoes and - How lovely,Castiel thought - more kale. Dean stopped evaluating the firmness of a particularly bright red fruit to fix Castiel with an odd look in his eye. Sensing that Dean had yet to understand the importance of a bee's survival in the colder months, Castiel continued on.

"Really, Dean. I was just informing you of an interesting way in which bees survive despite the odds against them. Bees are very important to our world's ecosystem," Castiel babbled, but Dean kept staring at him with that look that Castiel could not identify. When he made to keep talking, however, Dean stopped him.

"Okay," he said, his mouth lifting at one corner, "okay I get it. Bees are really important." Castiel relaxed at Dean's comprehension, despite the lingering feeling he was being laughed at. There was a lull in the conversation while Dean selected a tomato.

"So besides your little obsession with bees," Dean said.

"It's not an obsession, Dean, they are really-"

"Okay, okay! Besides your… interest in bees," Dean corrected quickly, and Castiel nodded his approval for him to continue, "what other things do you like, Castiel Milton?"

Castiel wracked his brain for an adequate answer. He spent most of his time tending to the garden, his bees, and the stand. When he had extra time, he helped his brother out with the bar, as he had the night before; though usually he did not quite so much enjoy that particular task. When Castiel didn't answer straight away, Dean laughed again.

"Cas, buddy, if it takes you that long to answer a simple question, we ain't gonna have time to get to know each other at all!" Dean said. Castiel rallied at the light teasing.

"I work a lot," he replied finally, and squinted again, thinking. "I enjoy reading, though, and tending to the bees. Though whether or not tending to bees counts as a hobby is debateable…" Castiel trailed off, then abruptly remembered Dean's earlier reprimand. "I'm sorry, you expressed a lack of interest in this particular arena. What do you do on your spare time, Dean?" he asked finally. Dean shook his head.

"Naw, Cas. I wasn't…" Dean started, but seemed to think better of it, "Your hobbies make mine sound stupid." Dean admitted looking down, a blush creeping up his neck. Castiel placed his hand on Dean's absently as they walked side by side without thinking. Dean jerked with surprise and nearly dropped the bag of tomatoes he was holding.

"I'm sorry," said Castiel hurriedly, cursing his lack of tact. He wished for the role to be reversed as they had been upon meeting Dean, but it was his turn to feel his cheeks burn as he quickly clasped his hand behind his back.

"I…" Dean started, but Castiel was determined to gloss over his faux pas.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said again, firm, and Dean closed his open mouth, licking his lips nervously. Castiel tried not to watch what he was discovering to be a common gesture with Dean. "I only meant to convey that I am positive nothing you love could be stupid. What are you interested in, Dean?" Castiel brings his eyes to hold Dean's gaze steadily. It proves to be a mistake when Dean opens his mouth to speak, only to yelp as he nearly runs into an elderly lady and a small child.

"F-" Dean starts, then covers his mouth, "I'm sorry, m'am, I didn't see you there. Here, let me help you with that…" he says politely, attempting to help sort out the mess of bags the lady is holding. He yelps again when the old woman bats his hand away with a sharp rap of her cane.

"Watch where you're going, asshole!" she snarls, wrapping her hand more tightly around the child's. The little boy glares up at Dean before following his surly grandmother. Dean stares in shock.

"Well, fuck," Dean said after a beat. Castiel stared back, mouth agape.

Then, unable to hold back any longer, Castiel laughed loudly, all the tension running out of him. Dean's eyes widened further, but his mouth turned slowly into a reciprocating smile. Castiel let out a small high pitched squeal, and doubled over again, whole body shaking with laughter.

"This," he said, taking a gulp of air, "is going…" another wheeze, "so poorly!" he finally finishes, and Dean chuckles a little too.

"God, you're right…" Dean replied, running a free hand through his hair. His smile was strained though, so Castiel sobered up enough to explain.

"It's not you," he began, then frowned at the familiar phrasing. "No, I'm serious! I honestly don't think I can remember having had a worse first date."

Dean's smile disappeared, and Castiel groaned.

"No, no," he tried again. Sighing, he reached up and pecked Dean on the cheek, just so the frown could be replaced with the look of surprise and embarrassment that Castiel was starting to find unbearably endearing. Dean waited patiently for the explanation as Castiel continued. "It's just… You were uncomfortable, then I attempted to rectify the situation by making conversation, but only succeeded in making us both more uncomfortable… I just… My 'people skills' and a little 'rusty', as they say." Castiel dipped his head at the admission, laughter finally abating enough for him to explain properly. "And throughout this entire fiasco, I still haven't learned a single thing about you..." He hesitated before continuing, eyeing Dean cautiously. "Despite my definite vested interest in getting to know you better. I mean, I would like to at least secure a goodbye kiss later." he added, staring up at Dean with a straightforward gaze. His candor was mediated by the way he bit his lip, as if willing the words back into his mouth.

Dean had been cautiously eyeing him throughout his speech, smile growing, until his mouth formed a little "o" at the last sentence. Castiel smiled brighter despite the pink he knew was dusting his cheeks.

"Well," Dean said finally, after allowing his gaze to linger for a moment on Castiel's. "In that case, how 'bout we start by reducing our risk of collateral damage and finding a damn seat 'round here somewhere?" When Castiel nodded, , Dean smiled again. "Good. And don't think I didn't hear you say you owned bees, Cas. I wanna hear all about it in a sec'." He added, nudging Castiel a little to the side.

Emboldened by Dean's suggestion, Castiel began to turn towards the lemonade stand.

"You go find us a spot," he said, nodding Dean over to the deserted picnic tables past the market. "I'll get us refreshments."

Castiel turned away again before he could see the flash of dread in Dean's eyes at his words.

Dean walked over to some picnic tables a little further away from the market. The farmer's market was a pain to get to because it was a good twenty minute drive east from the main part of Lawrence where Sam lived. The drive from Castiel's had not taken as long, but then again, Castiel's house was also quite a ways from the downtown area. Nestled in a wide field that was once probably a farm, the locals gathered, daily or weekly, depending on the owner's time frame, to sell their goods. Though he would never admit it to his brother, Dean liked the market itself, with its natural bustling friendliness and brightly coloured stands. If there was one place Dean could envision a cookie cutter life, it was Lawrence.

He was picturing a sandy haired green eyed boy running up to a dark haired woman as a much older version of himself looked on when Cas finally showed up, two mason jars in hand. A new vision flashed through his mind at the sight of the squinting man in front of him. A dark haired man with blue eyes replaced the slender woman he had imagined and instead of a green eyed little boy, a border collie ran up to pretend-Dean as he returned from work to greet his partner who was tending dutifully to their tomato garden. Dean immediately pushed away the absurd thought and focused on the man approaching him now. It did not do him well to dwell on fantasies. Especially not ones about broad shouldered men in pink v-necks he barely even knew. Speaking of which… Dean thought.

"Hiya, Cas, whatcha got there?" Dean said, shielding his eyes from the sun that had returned full force in the apex of mid day.

"Your favourite!" Cas said, and held out a large jar of lemonade. Dean smiled uncomfortably.

"Uh, thanks, Cas! That was thoughtful of you," he said, hoping his tone did not betray his distaste. Dean sipped his drink, trying not to choke on the acidity. Castiel ducked his head, smiling a little as he sat down, and Dean saw the tips of his ears redden. Totally worth it.

"So, Dean," Castiel began.

"Alright, Cas," Dean started at the same time.

They both looked at each other in desperation. Dean held up his hand as if waiting to be called upon in a classroom. Castiel lifted his eyebrow at him, expression slightly confused, but mostly curious.

"Yes, Mr. Winchester," he said. Dean tried not to think about the professor voice. It sounded too much like the one Castiel had used to get Dean in the car last night. He shook his head to clear it of those thoughts.

"We gotta try something new," Dean said, and Castiel's eyebrow lifted further, though now his expression took on a more ravenous look. Dean swallowed. "I- I mean with how we're talkin'," Dean clarified, and the hunger receded slightly, though Castiel's eyes took a moment to unstick from Dean's throat when after he swallowed. He nodded minutely, eyes trained to Dean's. "I think we should play a game!"

"I believe I am familiar with this game. It is the question game, correct?" Castiel asked, head tilting. "It is what my sister Anna has informed me flirtatious women often suggest in order to indicate they are interested in someone," Castiel explained assuredly, and Dean blushed.

"What?! No, man, that's not…" Dean started, but gave up almost immediately. "Alright, fine, yeah, a lot of girls use it to ask dumb questions like whether or not you like to be on top or whatever…" Dean peeked up at Castiel, who simply smirked at Dean.

"But you do not plan on using it to this end, of course," Castiel finished for him with a wide, innocent gaze. Dean had been too busy wondering whether he should feel surprised or insulted by Castiel's smug grin earlier to complete his sentence.

"Right, no. Of course not," Dean said quickly, and rallied. "I just think it would be a good way to get to know each other without any more casualties." Castiel looked like he was about to start asking questions, so Dean quickly went on. "But you know, let's make it fifteen questions. And you gotta answer honestly." Dean watched as Castiel furrowed his brow as if the decision to accept these terms would impact the rest of his life. Dean waited patiently. He was getting used to reading Castiel, with his tilted head and mouth twitches.

"That seems amenable," Castiel replied finally, but held up a finger in pause. "But what happens if I do not wish to answer something?" Castiel asked, "Would I automatically lose the game?" He gazed at Dean very seriously, and he couldn't help but chuckle a little at the apparently high stakes.

"Nah, Cas, it's alright. Let's say that if you don't want to answer, you can just skip. And there's no explanation needed. Just take a pass and the game continues," Dean reassured him, and could have sworn he saw Castiel's shoulders relax minutely.

"This seems to be a good compromise. I will begin with an easy question," Castiel said formally, and turned to face Dean fully on the bench they were sitting side by side on. "Dean Winchester, what do you do on your spare time?"

"Honestly," Dean began.

"-that was the idea, yes-" Castiel cut in. Dean punched him in the arm and kept talking.

"Honestly, I haven't really had any 'spare time'. I work at a garage to help Sammy pay bills, I help sort out family stuff, I eat, and sleep," Dean said then, shrugging. He wracked his brain for the time he truly had a good time. Well, if I gotta be honest… he thought, taking an inventory of the past 6 weeks. "I actually think today's been the most fun I've had since moving back home." Dean flashed a dazzling grin at Castiel for effect, but the man's answering signature mouth twitch was half hearted. Thankfully, Castiel did not push Dean for more information. Besides, Dean thought wickedly, it's my turn.

"Alright, since you let me off easy, here's mine. How do you take your coffee?" Dean asked, eyes too wide to be as innocent as they looked. Castiel narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but relented once his searching gaze found nothing but feigned innocence in Dean's eyes.

"I prefer tea, with two teaspoons of honey. But if I must have coffee, I prefer it with four creams and four sugars," Castiel said, and Dean's expression morphed into one of disgust. "Why do I have a feeling this question had more meaning to it than simple coffee preferences?" Castiel asked, and Dean laughed.

"Is that your second question, Castiel?" Dean replied in kind.

"Are we starting another type of question game, Dean?" Castiel asked, challenging.

"Do you want to?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

"Could you keep up?" Castiel countered.

"Could you?" Dean said after a moment.

"Are you going to parrot me instead of finding a suitable question to ask?" Castiel asked, a laugh bubbling up at the absurdity of the conversation. Dean bit his lip.

"Are you gonna be a parrot… Fine, you win," Dean conceded, pouting at Castiel's smirk. "Don't look so smug, it's your turn to ask a question."

"Well, since you did have such a strong reaction to how I take my coffee… What significance does one's coffee preferences have for you?" Castiel asked, smiling when Dean's blush all but confirmed he had been avoiding the question to begin with.

"It's not a science or anything," Dean began. "It's just that I kinda feel like you can tell a lot from how people take their coffee." Dean shrugged, but Castiel shook his head.

"Not good enough!" he insisted, nudging Dean in the arm when he rolled his eyes. "Elaborate, please."

"I answered already! That's two questions, you can't add one on!" Dean protested, his cheeks still tinged pink.

"Technically, it wasn't a question," Castiel said then. He stole a cautious glance at the man beside him before leaning in, "it was more of an... order."

Dean did his best not to visibly shiver under Castiel's suddenly heated gaze. He could hardly keep up with the man's changing moods. One minute he was a shy, awkward mess; the next, he was ordering Dean around like he was a puppy. And Dean was… letting him? He shook his head to clear it.

"Fine, fine, whatever," Dean said, rubbing his jaw to dissipate the permanent burn that resided there apparently whenever he was around Cas. "So for example take Sammy. You've met my brother, you know that he's a total health nut, pain in the ass genius, right?"

Castiel nodded, though Dean wasn't sure he knew more than what Dean had told him about Sam.

"Sammy doesn't drink coffee if he can help it. He goes off about how it messes with his optimal energy levels and he 'prefers to get a good night's sleep'. Whatever. The point is, if Sammy has to drink coffee - like he's got some big exam or he stayed up late doing some nerdy shit - he drinks only the really expensive organic stuff and he drinks it black. Not 'cause he likes the taste, or 'cause he wants the best, most efficient cup of coffee to wake him up. Nah, Sammy drinks high quality, eight dollar a grain bullshit coffee 'cause he read on some blog once that unfiltered, low quality coffee can cause disease or something…" Dean trailed off, shrugging his shoulders again. "Anyway, what I'm saying is, I like to think the way people take their coffee says a lot about them. Sometimes you don't figure out how until you've got to know 'em a bit, sometimes the coffee question does the knowin' for you. It's just a thing I like to do…"

"I like it," Castiel said, and his smile is contagious. "But you know what my follow up question has to be now…"

"No follow ups!" Dean cried, suddenly nervous. This was moving into dangerous feelings territory real fast. "It's my turn anyway!"

"Fine. I'll wait my turn," Castiel relinquished. "In any case, I already know the answer." Castiel said smugly, and Dean's heart pounded painfully hard. How could Castiel know something Dean himself didn't even know... yet, his brain supplied helpfully. "I would wager you take your coffee black too, but for different reasons." Castiel smirked proudly at Dean's surprised frown.

Oh. He hadn't wanted to ask Dean what he thought Castiel's sweet coffee said about the man's character. He'd wanted to know about Dean. Well. That was… interesting.

"My lips are sealed," Dean said, covering up his mini panic attack with false confidence. "It's my turn, Cas."

"Go on then, Mr. Mysterious. I'll remind you that you've only fourteen more to go. Do not presume I am not keeping track," Castiel said, wagging his finger. Dean bit his lip in fake contemplation.

"I better make the next one good then," he said playfully and formulated his query in his mind.

After a few more easy questions wherein Dean asked Castiel who his celebrity crushes were, ("Dean, I'm afraid I do not follow popular culture…"- "C'mon, Cas, not even Harrisson Ford?" -"I do not know who that is, Dean." -"What?!") and Castiel asked Dean what his favourite dessert was ("Pie, obviously."), the question Castiel knew would arrive but had been dutifully ignoring finally came.

"So this chick is going to town under the covers and I'm losing my mind trying to keep it down, 'cause Sammy's in the other room of course and it's not like we're in the Embassy Suites here; walls are pretty paper thin. Anyway I guess I was pretty bad at being quiet back then 'cause three seconds after she does this thing with her tongue, Sammy walks into the bedroom in his PJs just starin'. I'm surprised, but I don't know if I should tell her 'cause she's still doing a real good job down there and I don't really want her to stop… But in that hesitation, she did that thing again and I…" Dean dissolved into laughter as Castiel tried not to imagine the sight of Dean "losing it" in bed. "Suffice to say, Sammy learned how to knock real quick, and that chick never stayed the night," he finished, still chuckling. Castiel shook his head at the story.

"So how's that for most embarrassing story? Although I'm pretty sure Sammy was more embarrassed than I was. Nineteen year old me didn't really give a shit about gettin' laid…" Dean's expression darkened a little at the admission.

"What about now?" Castiel asked before he could stop himself. Dean raised his eyebrows and winked.

"Ah, ah, ah!" It was his turn to waggle his finger. "It's not your turn," he said, but his smiled was strained again. "So tell me Cas, what's your family like? Got any Peeping Tom, cockblock brothers like me?" he asked a little too quickly. And there it was. The question Castiel had been debating using his "pass" on. Would it be suspicious to skip such a basic question? Would Dean's opinion of him change if he did? And if he didn't? He glanced sideways at Dean, but the man had thrown back his head to gulp down some more lemonade. The smooth column of Dean's throat was bared to him and Castiel thought, to hell with it!

"They're…" Castiel started, unsure of how to explain it. You can start with the truth, his mind supplied helpfully. Castiel tried again. "My family is very… conservative."

"Oh," Dean cut in and Castiel had the distinct impression that a lot had been said in that one syllable. Empathy flashed through Dean's eyes when their gazes met. Instead of shrugging it away, Dean smiled kindly. "You don't gotta talk about it if you don't want to." He said, holding Castiel's gaze. He smiled back gratefully, but ignored the easy out.

"No, no. I want to," Castiel said, and perhaps he was convincing himself too. He dove into the story without preamble. Best get it over with, he thought wryly."I expected, from what I had heard from those 'coming out' stories, a certain amount of resistance. My mother was a prominent figure in church, and my older brothers and I had always fallen in line…" Castiel stopped for a breath, pondering. "It's quite a long story, Dean, are you sure you want to hear about this? As far as I know, it is not necessarily custom to share this much on a first date. In fact, I see you're almost out of lemonade. We could get a refill instead!" Castiel suggested. Dean made a face.

"If you want to share, I'll listen. If you don't, you can still say pass," Dean said. "No excuses, no explanations. You can even ask me how I feel about casual sex now after," he added, nudging him lightly. Castiel smiled and stared at Dean a little longer than was necessary.

"Well, thank you Dean, but I believe the goal of this game was to get to know each other," Castiel replied firmly. He sighed before continuing. "It isn't particularly original. The poster boy in a religious community suddenly claiming to be a homosexual. It was unthought of. Absurd, even. So much so that many suspected I might be lying about it. They thought perhaps I was catering to the more liberal voices, trying to earn popularity and relatability. It wasn't until my 'condition', as they called it, seemed to affect others that my family grew truly afraid. I decided to do them a favour and move away." Castiel took a breath, stealing a glance at Dean, but the man simply nodded encouragingly. "So I looked up my estranged brother Gabriel. He had left the family long ago. We never mentioned him. Rumours flew for a while at church as to what he had gotten up to, but we were told he had lost his way, but if he were ever to find again, he'd be welcomed back like the prodigal son. I realize now how harsh it was for my parents to cut off their own child, but at the time it had seemed logical. Gabriel broke the rules. You could not be a part of the family if you could not adhere to the rules."

"Anyway, I found Gabriel easily enough. He was setting up shop in Lawrence and had already made quite a splash in the local news. That's when I realized he wasn't hiding. I left the day after I figured out where he was. I didn't tell a soul, I just packed up my favourite books in this old school bag I had used as a child when I went to Sunday school, and I was gone. I haven't spoken to my family since," Castiel finished. Dean put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing his bicep. Castiel leaned into the touch easily.

"Anna came to find me about a month later. She was a runaway that my mother had taken in 'to set an example' for other churchgoers. Anna was never any good at following orders. I wouldn't be surprised if my mother was relieved at her departure. Regardless, they never tried to contact me or Anna since we left. It's been nearly a year now," Castiel said. A year, and the access to his trust fund remained unhindered. Castiel pushed the thought from his mind, focusing on Dean's low whistle in response.

"Damn, Cas," Dean said, and Castiel nodded.

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "I told you it was quite long." he added, apologetic.

"You're right," he said, his words distorted by a very loud yawn. Castiel turned, startled by the sound. "That was super boring, Cas. Way to be a drag," Dean said dismissively. Castiel's mouth fell open. Then Dean winked at him, hand moving to the nape of his neck. Curling his fingers around in the the hair at the back of Castiel's head, Dean rubbed soothing circles into his upper back, gentle movements in contrast with his crooked smile. Castiel smiled tentatively back.

"My apologies. However will I make it up to you?" Castiel replied, leaning in minutely. Dean grinned wider, the small tension that had formed between them breaking into easy camaraderie again. It seemed to be becoming a pattern with them. Castiel kept his eyes on Dean, whose eyes had crinkled at the corners, lashes casting long shadows over the tiny wrinkles.

Dean tsked.

"Is that your question, Mr. Milton?" Dean asked, and Castiel shook his head quickly.

The game continued easily for another hour or so. Castiel soon learned that asking Dean about literature or movies would gain him knowledge about all aspects of Dean's life as he was prone to ramble on into tangents about friends and family at the mere mention of pop culture. Castiel also learned that Dean and him both shared an evident enjoyment in making each other blush, which was demonstrated clearly in question number eight and ten. But best of all, Castiel got to watch, document, and categorize all the different ways Dean expressed himself through his body: the crinkle between his brows when Castiel told him that though he took pleasure in a well made burger, he felt less guilty indulging in a delicious kale salad; the way Dean's green eyes turned almost black with arousal when Castiel admitted he had tried on women's under garments (and enjoyed them); and Dean's laugh, which came in a myriad of forms, each more beautiful than the last.

He'd lost track of the time, as well as how many question they had asked each other. He was in the middle of relaying one happier story from his childhood, before Gabriel had left, when he felt Dean tense beside him. He turned to Dean, who straighten up from where his hand had been draped over Castiel's shoulder, shooting Castiel a familiar look of guilt mixed with fear before turning back to something in the distance in front of him. Castiel followed Dean's gaze and understood almost immediately.

"Ah," Castiel said quietly, straightening his posture as well. Though at times Castiel did not quite understand popular culture references or social cues, he was very familiar with the hitched breath of a man caught doing something he believed he shouldn't.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, approaching. Noticing Castiel, he grinned. "Hiya, Cas! So you've met! When did you run into Dean?"

"Yes, actually we met y-" Castiel began, but Dean cut him off.

"Today. We ran into each other today at the stand again," Dean said loudly. Castiel nodded slowly.

"Funny," Sam said, rounding on Castiel. He pointed his finger accusingly at Castiel. "You said you don't do Tuesdays! Today is Tuesday."

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw Dean's smile faltered and he blanched. Castiel was unfazed though.

"Anna required some extra supplies, so I drove over to help her out," Castiel lied smoothly. Sam chuckled.

"Workaholic," he nodded knowingly, and Castiel smiled wanly.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I was just taking a break to offer your brother here some lemonade…" Castiel began, and Sam laughed outright.

"Don't bother! Dean ha-" Sam started, but Dean waved him off.

"H-has a sweet tooth. I have a sweet tooth. If you don't stop giving me free lemonade, I'll drink you right outta business!" Dean finished, flashing Castiel a bright smile. He added a wink when Sam wasn't looking. Castiel smiled uncertainly back.

"You're welcome to however much lemonade you would like, Dean," he said, and Dean flushed, still staring at him. Sam cleared his throat. Castiel reddened with embarrassment.

"You too, Sam, of course!" he added, but Sam was staring pointedly at Dean. Unsure of the meaningful glance Sam was throwing Dean's way, Castiel chose to ignore it and focused back on Dean.

"Actually, Dean," he said, a bit forcefully. Dean's eyes sharpened with curiosity. "I was hoping we could exchange numbers so you could help me out with that car trouble I was talking about earlier…" Castiel said, raising his eyebrows. Dean frowned momentarily, before catching on.

"Oh yeah, definitely. I'd love to help you out, Cas," Dean reached for his phone, winking at Cas again. Good call, he mouthed, but Sam was looking through Dean's purchases so far so he didn't notice. Castiel took Dean's phone and programmed his number in it quickly.

"Well, I should get back home," Castiel said vaguely, earning him a grateful smile from Dean. "It was nice seeing you Sam, Dean." He nodded at them both and smiled politely before walking to his car.

It wasn't until he was sitting in the driver's seat that he remembered he hadn't gotten Dean's phone number.

Twenty minutes later, Sam and Dean were on their way back to their father's house. Seeing as they had already stocked the pantry at Sam's place, they only needed a few supplies to keep them well fueled while they finished cleaning up John's house.

"So…" Sam started, and Dean squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

"Spit it out, Samantha," he said finally, when Sam refused to continue.

"So you met Cas!" Sam replied, undeterred by Dean's dark tone. Dean huffed.

"Yeah. Nice guy," he said shortly. Sam smiled wider. Dean flipped his blinker on with a little more force than necessary.

"So nice. Him and his sister run that lemonade stand you like so much, you know?" Sam said, emphasizing key words in the sentence like Dean was slow.

"Yeah, I've met Anna. She's hot," Dean said, waggling his eyebrows at his brother. Sam frowned.

"Cas is pretty good looking too. Must run in the genes," Sam said, recovering his smile. Dean rolled his eyes.

"They're foster siblings, Sam. Last time I checked it doesn't work like that," Dean replied smugly. "And they look nothing alike anyway." Sam smiled wider.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. I guess I don't know as much about it. I don't really like Cas' lemonade that much. Too sweet," Sam said casually.

Dean opened his mouth to argue that actually its sweetness was the appeal, and couldn't Sam taste that note of something else in there? Dean may hate lemonade, but Cas' lemonade wasn't "too sweet". But Dean closed his mouth, thinking better of it.

"Whatever, Sam, enough about the lemonade, how's the house?" Dean said instead, and that effectively wiped the irritatingly knowing smile on Sam's face.

"It's coming. Slowly, but it's coming," Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "When's our deadline again?" he asked, staring ahead at the road. Dean decidedly did not look at his brother when he answered.

"They want us to do it as soon as possible," Dean said quietly. "But I told them it could wait until the end of summer." Sam made to protest. "Forget it, Sammy. I got some money saved up from… from before, and I'm making enough cash to cover rent now. You don't gotta worry about hospital bills, okay? You just worry about getting ready for September." Dean turned to his brother at the last sentence, clasping his shoulder firmly. Sam smiled thinly.

"You don't have to do all that, it's not your job," Sam said. The anymore was left unspoken. Dean moved his hands back to the steering wheel, gripping it tightly.

"It is my job, Sammy. Who else is gonna do it now?" Dean muttered, looking away. Sam brought a hand to his jaw, features strained with tension.

"Yeah, yeah. I was there last night. I get it," Sam said darkly. "Don't you ever get tired of holding up the world on your shoulders?" He muttered, not low enough that Dean missed the words. He pretended he didn't hear.

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence.

After that first tense day, however, cleaning the house quickly became a much easier ordeal. Though Dean's idea of blowing off steam - getting drunk at a bar only to end up at a strange man's house - had not quite had the effect he had planned, the boys soon fell into a quiet rhythm. Sam worked part time at a coffee shop and Dean went in for Bobby four times a week, but Dean's favourite days were those they spent sorting through their father's things together. Often times they weren't even in the same room, but one would find something of interest and call out to the other, reminiscing on happier memories.

The worst day was the one Dean spent cleaning out the bathroom. Not only because of how filthy the room was - why was there so much hair?-, but because he couldn't find a single item that would justify telling Sam a story and he found himself missing his brother's laugh. He sighed as he scrubbed the bottom of the bathtub. Sam probably wouldn't hear Dean even if he could think of something to say. He had finally finished with the living room and hallway, and was currently working on his childhood bedroom, which was farthest away from the bathroom Dean was currently cleaning. Dean had opened the door to his own room the third or fourth day, but the sight of his things strewn angrily across the floor had made his stomach turn, and he had ended up in the bathroom, heaving over the toilet bowl. Thankfully, Sam hadn't been home at the time, and Dean had cleaned the toilet bowl and just kept cleaning.

Another week had gone by and Dean still hadn't touched his old bedroom. Sam hadn't mentioned it yet, but the tasks Dean did instead of opening that door again became more and more superfluous. Sam eyed him with concern, but knew not to say a word. Dean silently thanked him for that.

It wasn't until Sam had returned to the apartment, claiming he was starving, that Dean thought about Castiel. How long had it been since their "date"? Dean counted the days mentally. Shit, he thought, pulling out his phone. It had been nearly two weeks. The boys had decided to subsist mainly on what they had stored at Sam's apartment, when they had time to go back there, as well as take out and convenience stores. Dean hadn't been in the mood to cook, despite the sparkling clean kitchen, and Sam hadn't mentioned the farmer's market since that day. Dean scrolled through his contacts. Chuckling to himself, he selected, "Lemonade Stand Guy" from the list and set out to type a message.

 _hey cas, sorry it took me so long 2 text u_

Dean frowned at the message and erased it. So lame, he thought derisively.

 _hey cas. guess what? i figured out how to use a phone finally ;)_

Dean was erasing this one before he even finished typing it. A winky face? He shook his head, regrouping.

 _hey cas. long time no see. id say im sorry, but i can think of other ways to make it up to u_

Dean finally just pressed send without re-reading it. You could never go wrong with sexual innuendo, right? That's what every man wanted to hear. He looked at the screen for a minute. Damn it! he thought, quickly typing out another text.

 _this is dean btw_

The response was almost immediate.

 **Hello, Dean.**

Inexplicably, Dean smiled at the greeting. He read it in the growly voice he had come to associate with hot lemonade stand owners.

 _hi :)_

Dean facepalmed after hitting send, but Castiel responded just as quickly as before.

 **I believe we've gone through this part.**

Dean smiled at the mirrored conversation. Another text arrived shortly thereafter.

 **You had suggested a method of repayment for making me wait so long to hear from you. I would be interested in pursuing this topic of conversation.**

Dean bit his lip, smiling wider.

 _repayment sounds like some kind of contract cas. u tryna get me to commit already?_

 **I am certain we could mediate the terms without a written agreement. However you may always, of course, say enough's "impala".**

Dean gaped at his phone. Bastard. On their first date, Dean had asked Cas smugly if he had ever used a safeword, expecting a blush and denial. Cas had not missed a beat when he had said, "Yes. Tell me yours." Dean had responded with "impala" automatically, before he had realized Cas had tricked him into answering without asking. Cas was treated to another question, as well as another blush from Dean.

As he texted, he was supposed to be getting ready for work because Bobby had called him in to work on an older corvette. The client had seen Dean arrive in his baby and had requested him personally to work on his own classic ride. Bobby had been thrilled by the new business and Dean had actually been excited for the change of pace from oil changes and windshield wiper repairs. As it stood, Dean cursed his schedule. Another ping from his phone distracted him as he pulled on his work jeans.

 **I apologize, Dean. I have made you uncomfortable.**

Dean scrambled to reply.

 _did u hear me say impala? he wrote back quickly._

He immediately wrote another reply.

 _(im just getting ready for work at bobby's)_

It was a minute before another reply came.

 **I should probably be working also…**

 _you slackin off at the job?_

 **I have wiped the counter four times, visited Rita's stand twice, and made up a tray of free samples that one person has sampled from.**

 **They should consider monotony for a method of torture in war-like situations.**

 _they do. its called white torture_

Dean bit his lip before adding.

 _sorry. dad was in the military_

He probably shouldn't have brought it up at all, but somehow Castiel always wrung these things out of him, no silly questions game needed.

 **I apologize, Dean. I did not mean to make light of military involvement. My brothers also fought.**

 _its nothing. glad u texted me even if its just cuz ur bored ;)_

 **That is not the ONLY reason I texted you.**

 _sorry, ya. i meant cuz ur bored….. and u think im adorable._

Dean grinned stupidly at his phone again.

 **Hmm… I couldn't comment on your physical appearance. I'm afraid I've forgotten what you look like.**

 _if u want a selfie u gotta ask_

 **I want a picture of you, Dean. May I have one?**

 _not even gonna say please?_

Dean smirked at the phone in his hand, putting on his shoes leisurely. The reply was instantaneous.

 **Please.**

Dean blushed. He looked down at his tattered jeans. Checking the time, he mentally rolled his eyes as he climbed up the stairs. He wouldn't change his entire outfit, that would be crazy. He did, however, know a shirt that was sure to keep Cas entertained with mental images for the day. He cursed himself a little for being so sentimental. But, God, this was a refreshing change from worrying about Sammy and cleaning this godforsaken house.

Once he had thrown on the ACDC shirt he had left folded by the couch in his dad's living room, he stood in front of the mirror. Trying not to worry about angles or lighting, Dean adopted a grin that suggested more confidence than the light blush that lit up his freckled cheeks, and raised one arm up behind his head so the loose shirt rode up past his hipbones. Snapping the incriminating picture quickly and irrationally glancing around to check if anyone had witnessed him alone in the house, Dean attached it to a message and pressed send.

 _it still kinda smells like you…_

Dean waited, but the reply didn't come. Feeling decidedly stupid, he changed back into a plain black henley before heading out to the car. Sitting down at the wheel, he heard the telltale ping of his phone.

 **I apologize for my delayed reply. I was… distracted.**

Dean suppressed a grin.

In fact, I think it would be best for you not to send photo messages to me while I am in public. I nearly spilled lemonade on my only client of the day. You're bad for business.

 _i was just tryna fulfill ur needs…_

Dean thought about Cas spilling lemonade thinking about him. He bit his lip as he typed out his next response.

 _sir._

Dean waited a beat before turning the key in the ignition.

 **Go to work.**

Dean could almost hear the growl in Cas' toneless text message. He unconsciously moved a little faster as he fastened his seatbelt.

 _as you wish_

He wrote back. He spent most of the ride to the garage hoping Castiel had understood the reference.

Castiel smiled at his phone again. He had spent the better part of the day sending and receiving texts from Dean at the stand. The summer months were usually the busiest, but June meant a good two weeks of rain and thus, Castiel's main business suffered slightly. Castiel didn't mind, though. When Castiel had moved to Lawrence, he had resigned himself to a life alone. Castiel looked back on the first few days he had spent, chasing down a long lost brother, unsure if he even existed. He had spent a lot of time preparing to leave his home, but nothing had readied him for the anxiety of accepting responsibility for every single choice he made.

Castiel had grown up in a family that took care of its own… And nearly no one else. Though they were members of a church, Castiel's family's primary focus was on the sheep that followed the shepherd, not the one lost along the way. Castiel had once adhered to the strict expectations of his parents. He always knew, as he studied scriptures and faith, that his beliefs weren't truly the same.

At first, Castiel had rebelled in small ways. As a seventeen year old Sunday school teacher, he purposefully picked stories from the bible that promoted love and acceptance rather than judgment and blind obedience. After an unfortunate incident in which a child asked his parents why his older sister was being sent away for having a girlfriend, citing his Sunday school teacher Castiel as his main source for the belief that "love is love", Castiel was politely asked to step down from the role of shaping young minds. Abandoning the education of young children, Castiel instead focused on his own interests. He read any and all books he could get his hands on as he entered his post secondary education. Though his parents insisted that Castiel at least minor in theology, he was not completely prohibited from pursuing his interests in biology and literature. Eventually, in his early twenties, he formed a book club with three other youths at the family church. When it was discovered that their recommended books included many distasteful and antireligious novels, Castiel's mother quickly and effectively dissolved the little club.

It wasn't until Castiel met Balthazar that his family took a more direct approach. After he graduated, Castiel was encouraged by his family to pursue a medical degree. They could appreciate his love of reading and occasionally writing, but it was considered an interesting hobby at best. It seemed only logical to them that Castiel pursue a medical degree. So, ever the people pleaser, unable to bring himself to disappoint his mother, Castiel entered medical school. It was then that he met Balthazar.

His family immediately took a blatant disliking to the flamboyant older man Castiel had started spending his free time with. Balthazar was a quick witted fellow trust fund baby who in many ways was the complete opposite of Castiel. For one, he was tall, blond, and expertly coiffed. He wore deep v neck shirts and leather jackets, whereas a young Castiel dressed almost stiffly formal every day. When the two met, Balthazar had somehow networked his way into med school and was basking in his affluence unapologetically, while Castiel spent much of his med student days guilt-ridden and concerned with the ethics of his religion and privilege. They made an unlikely but inseparable pair.

Then, Balthazar had kissed Castiel.

Castiel half-smiled at the memory as he returned home from the farmer's market. It had been late one night when Balthazar had decided the only way to successfully pass exams was to make a drinking game out of the ridiculous amount of information they were expected to learn. Castiel had evidently refused, but that rarely stopped Balth from forging onwards. Medical books and a bottle of gin Balth had lifted from his parents' liquor cabinet sprawled on Castiel's floor as they steadily made their way through their review notes. They were in the middle of quizzing each other on metatarsals of all things, hiding out in Castiel's bedroom because Balth was on the outs with his maid again, when suddenly Balthazar had turned to Castiel as he recited the latin names of the bones of the foot. He grabbed Castiel's face mid sentence and slammed their lips together.

Castiel had barely begun to even react before his older brother Michael was walking through the door ajar, stumbling upon quite a scene.

Changing schools, being forbidden to read any books other than religious or school books, having a curfew at twenty three years of age… The aftermath of that inopportune moment still stung in Castiel's mind. Balthazar tried to keep in touch, explaining that he had just been curious, hadn't meant anything by it. He had even contacted Castiel's mother, claiming it was all his own fault and that Castiel had been trying to convert his lost soul to the righteous ways of God. The insincerity of the sentiment must have shone through though, because Castiel had overheard the conversation. "May God have mercy on your soul," she had replied coldly, and hung up. Balthazar hadn't contacted Castiel again.

It was nearly two years since that incident. The subsequent parade of eligible young women and unsubtle digs at Castiel's masculinity had come to a head almost a whole year later. That's when he had begun his search for Gabriel, the only sibling he had ever really considered an ally, before he had left the house as a young adult to 'make it on his own'.

And now, two years later, Castiel had somewhat established himself in Lawrence. Though he felt guilty at first, Castiel abandoned his studies in medical school and bought up the nearest property he could find that suited his needs in Lawrence. The rundown farmhouse formerly owned by a reclusive writer seemed perfect, and Castiel had used the money from his trust fund to pay for it in full, as soon as possible. At the time, he hadn't know what his next source of income would be, and he knew it was unlikely that he would be able to pay rent on whatever salary he received in helping his brother out at the bar he had established in town. So, reluctantly, Castiel had dipped into the money associated with the family he had supposedly renounced.

As he entered what he had come to call his home in the past year, he tried to dispel the feeling that he would never truly own the house that had been bought with the fruits of his family's labour and not his own. He sighed as he walked down the long entrance hallway to the kitchen at the end. He had never really been interested in Balthazar, but memories of him brought back a time in which Castiel had been his least afraid. Balthazar had been loud and full of life, and he sometimes wondered what life would have been if that kiss had been something more than just a drunken mistake.

He was startled out of his daydream by the chime of his cell phone. He smiled in anticipatory excitement.

 _guess what_

Castiel hastened to type out a response to Dean's playful text.

 **What?**

 _im done work!_

Castiel could not think of anything worth saying to that, so he prepared himself some toast and honey, trying not to keep checking his phone. Perhaps he would tend to the bees. Summer time was the busiest for the bees. Though his small apiary did not need much supervision, Castiel had learned last spring that the best practice was to check the brood weekly when the risk of swarming was at its highest. He was about to don his veiled hat when another text came in from Dean.

 _wanna do something tonight?_

Castiel's heart beat faster. Between Dean's mixed signals and the two weeks of silence, Castiel had all but given up on the man being interested. It was disappointing, when Castiel did not immediately receive a call or message from Dean after their first encounter at the market. He had hoped, despite Dean's clearly closeted sexuality, that they would have spent more time together. Then again, having once been in a similar position, Castiel could hardly blame the man for taking it slowly. In his limited experience with romance, Castiel had often been shy to move forward, content to keep the very few relationships he had had at a purely platonic level. Balthazar was always apt pointing out blushes and covert glances his way, whereas often times Castiel was completely oblivious to the attention he received.

In the case of Dean Winchester, however, Castiel could not seem to control himself around the man. In the short time they had spent together, Castiel had found himself irreversibly and completely fascinated by the man. Broad shouldered and often sporting a fierce frown, Dean held himself like a soldier. He was solid. But Castiel had, from the very start, somehow managed to get under this beautiful man's skin so that each look or well placed word lit his freckled face up with a dark flush. Dean Winchester blushing was not a sight Castiel would soon forget.

Castiel had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he failed to notice another string of messages appearing on his phone.

 _we could go for a ride in my baby_

 _or maybe you could introduce me to your bees_

 _but it doesn't have to be a date_

 _we could b friends_

 _if u want_

Castiel chuckled at the increasingly nervous texts. This was another aspect of Dean Castiel had yet to understand: how a man so clearly pure and good, inside and out, could constantly second guess himself. Castiel hadn't missed the way Dean lowered his eyes at compliments and carelessly refuted praise. The blushes and awkward pauses were amusing, but Castiel hated the underlying tone of self-criticism that seemed to accompany Dean's thoughts in the process.

 **I would love to go for a ride in Baby. It would be my honor to meet her finally.**

Castiel deliberately ignored the last few texts. If Dean wasn't sure what he wanted, Castiel knew better than to push him. Besides, he reminded himself, it had been one date.

 _pick u up at 8?_ came Dean's reply.

Then, a second later:

 _she cant wait to meet you either_

Castiel smiled and texted Dean his address. _Well. Perhaps this would make it two._

The house was spotless. If Dean ignored the closed door at the end of the hall on the right, he could actually call it perfect. He ignored the twist in his gut at the thought of eventually cleaning the dreaded room. He had entertained the idea of letting Sammy do it. His little brother had finally gotten up the courage to ask Dean, very carefully and very quietly, if he would like some help, but Dean had snapped at him shortly that it was his room and he would take care of it. He wasn't sure which was worse: the thought of going through the memories himself, or the shame of someone else watching him go through them, trying to "help". Dean didn't trust himself to go through his past with witnesses and yet, he couldn't find it in him to go through it alone either.

Pushing the confusing feelings towards his childhood bedroom aside, Dean was reminded of his imminent…date. Unfortunately, the topic of Cas, with its many implications and emotions, did not do much to assuage his roiling gut. At least Dean was alone in the small house; Sam had taken on another shift at the coffee shop, claiming he liked the work and needed to save up. Dean knew the real reason. He had taken on more shifts at the garage, had been keeping up with insurance and household bills, and most importantly, had maintained his (general) sobriety since he'd been back. This was Sam letting Dean take more on. This was Dean finally earning some respect.

The thought of that somehow irked Dean more than Sam's constant questions and doubting tones in the past. It was hard not to feel entitled to respect, considering what he had gone through to get away from this house. But, then again, it had been Dean's responsibility to leave, his fault. Staying meant putting Sammy in danger, disappointing his dad, ruining his own life. Not that his life was worth much now. Dean shook his head, finally stepping into the shower to prepare for tonight. It was a confusing mess of feelings that Dean once again did not want to examine. Resigning himself to be thankful for small mercies, he took advantage of Sam's absence to sing Heat of the Moment loudly and off key.

After his shower, in which Dean resolutely did not think about his "date", Dean got dressed in a rather tight pair of dark jeans and a plain white tee. Shrugging on his leather jacket, he looked at himself critically in living room mirror. He had just enough time to style his hair and wash Baby before going out. If he hurried, he could grab a burger on the way. Or not. Wouldn't a burger give him bad breath? Or would it assuage the nausea sitting deep in his gut? Why did he need fresh breath anyway? Was tonight a date after all?

Dean sighed at his reflection, finishing up with his hair and cursing himself for having spent so long on it. Then, after a thorough wash for baby and a second application of deodorant - just in case - Dean was off. Castiel had texted him his address a little earlier, and Dean didn't have too much trouble finding the place. Deciding to forego the burger (and stubbornly ignoring whatever reasons he chose to do so), Dean arrived a bit early to the slightly familiar farmhouse. He glanced at his phone four times before deciding it was too weird - and he was too anxious - to sit and wait in front of a house for fifteen minutes. If being twenty minutes early scared Castiel away, he couldn't be that great of a catch after all, Dean reasoned. Catch. An obligatory curse flew through Dean's brain at the offensive word.

"Goddamnit," Dean muttered, lifting his hand to knock.

He was soon rid of that particular task, however, because Castiel suddenly appeared at the open door. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but the sight of the half naked man in front of him shut him up.

Castiel was standing stock still, apparently shocked into paralysis at the unexpected appearance of Dean at the doorway. His hair was messier than usual, and a five o'clock shadow attractively darkened the sharp jut of of Castiel's jaw, stretched mid yawn. From the looks of it, Cas had just awoken from a nap, thrown on whatever had been in the vicinity, and decided to head outside for whatever reason. Unfortunately for Castiel - and perhaps fortunately for Dean, whatever had been in the vicinity ended up being a pair of very small black boxer briefs and, confusingly enough, a bright blue and yellow flowered apron.

Goddamn, thought Dean. This man was going to give him a kitchen apparel fetish.

Dean's eyes traveled unconsciously past Castiel's startled gaze, down to his bare shoulders. over the cutting ridges of exposed collarbones. He got stuck on the nipple peeking out from behind one of the loosened straps of the ridiculous apron. Just above it, a small freckle contrasted nicely with the brownish pink. Dean wondered if he could feel the raised ridge of the tiny beauty mark with his tongue if he tried.

He was snapped out of his daydream by Castiel's arms folding suddenly over his chest. Dean looked up. Castiel's face was beet red, his expression livid. Unfortunately, the combination of an apron, that adorable scruff, and the extreme case of bedhead seriously undermined his intimidating wrath and Dean had the insane urge to giggle. His mouth twitched, and Cas glared dangerously.

" Dean," Cas growled, and at least that helped Dean sober up. "What are you doing here?" Cas said, and Dean frowned. Maybe fifteen minutes early had been inconsiderate of him. He blushed.

"Uh, I…" he stuttered. Cas moved his hands to his hips.

"It isn't even six o'clock. If you needed something, you could have called me," Castiel grumbled. Dean couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"Cas. It's seven fifty," Dean replied, biting his lip. Cas' hands dropped from his hips and his face turned back to surprised sleepy, with a touch of horrified this time.

"What?" Cas cried, running back into the house, door ajar. Dean shrugged, still laughing a little and walked in. The man had already seen him practically naked after all. Manners were probably kind of useless at this point.

Cas was bent over, apparently searching under the kitchen table for something. He was huffing loudly, but Dean could not bring himself to be sorry for the view. After a moment, Cas obviously found what he had been looking for because he emerged from under the table with a horrified look on his face, clutching his cellphone in his hand. Dean tried not to laugh again.

"I have so many questions…" Dean said, and Castiel's look turned apologetic.

"Dean!" he finally said. "I am so sorry."

Castiel stepped closer, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder again for emphasis.

"It's fine," Dean said, but he was beginning to feel a little silly with his dark wash jeans and coiffed hair. His cheeks burned at the thought of how much longer he'd taken to get ready for tonight than he had for almost any other date in his life. Even though this wasn't even a date. In fact, it definitely wasn't a date because Cas had apparently forgotten all about it.

As if sensing the direction of Dean's thoughts, Castiel squeezed his shoulder, forcing Dean to look up at him.

"Dean," he said seriously. "It is not fine. I had been looking forward to since the moment you texted me earlier. I had been trying on different outfits. Really, I swear!" Castiel said, then motioned to his attired. "That's why I'm in… I had been in the middle of deciding what to wear when I noticed it was getting near time to leave and I had this great idea to distract you with baked goods since I was incapable of finding a single appropriate item of clothing. So I came down here to set the oven in my underwear, only to realize I didn't have a simple enough recipe on hand so I got out some of these old recipe books and started looking at them, but then I must have dozed off because I woke up because there was some idiot with some kind of broken exhaust outside, but I figured I would be best to put some semblance of clothing on before exiting my house to reprimand the man and then…"

Dean held up a hand, incredulous.

"So you're saying you couldn't decide what to wear, tried to distract me with baked goods instead, fell asleep, and then grabbed an apron on your way to chew me out for waking you up with Baby?" Dean asked, just to clarify. The tops of Castiel's cheekbones were pink again and his hand had dropped from Dean's shoulder. Dean could get used to that look. Castiel stared down at his feet.

"Yes…" he mumbled. He looked up at Dean, cautiously smile playing on his lips. "We really are quite terrible at this whole date thing, aren't we?" he said tentatively. Dean tried to ignore the way his stomach flipped at the word date. Instead of correcting him, however, Dean simply laughed. God, they really were.

"Well, nevermind that now. I should get dressed. I am so sorry to keep you waiting, Dean, I assure you I am usually quite punctual. This will not happen in the future," Cas said, shoulders squaring. Dean raised an eyebrow. "I mean, of course, if there was… if there could be a future…" Castiel backtracked quickly, and Dean smiled widely. "Oh, piss off!" Castiel said as he started to walk away. He punched Dean's arm on his way out.

"First thing's first," Dean said as Castiel entered the car, fully clothed and freshly showered. Dean paused for dramatic effect, staring seriously over at Cas. The man turned his laser focus onto Dean, who smirked. "You should take a moment because after you ride in my baby, she'll ruin you for all other cars." To his credit, Castiel did not roll his eyes. Instead, he just smiled back, an expression of fondness much like that of his brother Sam's washing over his features. Dean turned back to the steering wheel, revelling in the rumble of Baby's engine. Dean patted the dashboard almost out of habit, feeling the loud sound of her healthy engine. He smiled and turned to Castiel, who was watching him. Castiel grinned back.

"She's beautiful," he said, and Dean couldn't tell if he was just saying that, but he didn't care, because his stomach did that weird flip thing again. It was difficult to pry his eyes from his passenger, who had traded his floral apron and boxer briefs for a patterned button down and light jeans. Rushing, Cas had not had time to shave, so the natural bedhead and scruff remained. Dean wasn't mad.

"Right?" Dean said, caressing the dials of the radio fondly. "She's my number one girl." He said proudly, shifting into drive. "And you ain't even seen nothin' yet!"

Dean drove with confidence. The setting sun cast waning light on Dean's already golden features and Castiel was breathless. The way Dean revved the engine on purpose whenever he caught Castiel's eye did not help matters in the least. They spent much of the car ride in easy silence. Castiel had always been told Kansas was flat and boring, but he appreciated the long rolling plains littered with farms and store houses. It was calming. So he didn't mind it in the least when the "ride" they had agreed to wore on. Though Castiel asked, Dean refused to tell him where they were headed. He didn't mind anyway. It would be a long time before Castiel got bored of listening to Dean hum along to a song he didn't recognize while he drove.

Finally, after another ten minutes, Dean pulled off to the side of the road onto a tiny gravel path Castiel hadn't noticed before. They had been cruising along easily for a good twenty minutes on a smooth country road, but Dean slowed down considerably at the new turn. He winced as a rock got kicked up by a tire, but kept determinedly on.

"I hope our destination is worth it," Castiel said, half jokingly. Dean grimaced.

"Yeah, well, you better be a really good lay," he said distractedly, glancing at Castiel to convey a smile quickly, but turning back to concentrate on the uneven road.

"I assure you my skills are unparalleled," Castiel replied drily, and Dean barked out a laugh.

"Alright, Casanova, keep your pants on. We're almost there," Dean said, chuckling.

Surely enough Dean pulled off to the side again to pull into the driveway of a farm Castiel had noticed from the road. Stopping the car, Dean pulled the keys out of the ignition and smiled at Castiel.

Castiel glanced out at the seemingly abandoned old barn and back at Dean, slightly confused.

"We are at a farm," Castiel said, unsure. Dean grinned.

"Yes, but not just any farm," Dean said, waggling his eyebrows. "We're are Harry Cross' farm!" He finished, triumphant. Castiel blinked at him.

"Harry Cross," Dean said, tone growing uncertain. "Old man? Lives in North Lawrence? Sells popcorn to whoever'll buy it? C'mon Cas, don't tell me you've never listened to Old Man Cross!" Castiel shook his head, bewildered.

"Huh. Well," Dean said, clearly disappointed. He rallied. "That gives us something to do next time we hang out, I guess!" he said, and abruptly got out of the car. Castiel sat in his seat, unsure if he should follow. Dean appeared at his door, opening it for him.

"Thank you," Castiel said, rising out of his seat to join Dean.

"You're welcome," Dean said, winking. He turned towards the large barn in front of him and spread out his arms. "This, is Old Man Cross' barn," he explained, turning back towards Castiel. "Old Man Cross is an eighty two year old guy who lives in North Lawrence and runs a market out of his garage. He owns some land up here, but he never comes by and mostly kids use this place to pull pranks and," Dean's rhythm faltered for a moment, "and make out." Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively, holding out his hand for Castiel to lead on.

Still slightly bewildered, Castiel acquiesced, moving up to the entrance of the barn.

"Go on," Dean encouraged, and pushed the old door open for Castiel and he walked in.

The barn was ordinary. Somehow, Castiel had thought maybe it would be special in some way, but instead it looked exactly like any other barn he'd encountered. Some kids had graffitied parts of the wall and a couple of couches had been dragged in from who knows where to sit amongst the hay and old farming gear. The sun had long set and the entire place looked almost ominous. Castiel tried not to feel disappointed when he looked back at Dean. Dean, however, was not paying attention to Castiel at all. He had a small frown on his face, tongue caught between his teeth in contemplation. Castiel tilted his head, and the movement seemed to snap Dean back into focus.

"Okay, I know it's not much, but…" Dean trailed off, walking up behind him. Castiel felt him inhale a little sharply before the world went dark. Dean had placed his hands on Castiel's eyes. "Close your eyes." Dean instructed, and Castiel dutifully obeyed, despite the flutter in his gut and the loud beating of his heart.

"Are they closed?" Dean asked, and Castiel nodded, too nervous to say anything. It occurred to him, belatedly, that he did not know much about Dean. Unconsciously, Castiel went through his light self defense courses his mother had made him take as a young teen. He shrugged off the anxious feeling. He was reminded of Dean's golden hair in the car earlier and of his easy smile when a particular song came on the radio. Castiel rolled his shoulders back, mentally reassured.

"Okay," Dean finally decided to let go of his face, moving away. Castiel resisted the temptation to peek.

A few crashing sounds came from the far corner of the barn. Dean cursed. Castiel waited.

After a few more minutes, Dean's warmth bloomed at Castiel's back again as he placed his hands back onto his eyes.

"Ready?" Dean asked, and Castiel nodded again.

He removed his hands and Castiel opened his eyes.

The barn was lit with tiny fairy lights strung along the different beams and wood. The lights had gone out in some sections, but most of them were still intact. Dean had apparently also had time to move one of the less questionable couches to a better lit corner of the barn.

"Like I said," Dean mumbled, rubbing his neck. "It's not much. I know a bunch of kids used to come here with their dates when I was in highschool. I remembered they talked about the lights so I thought…" he trailed off when Castiel still didn't say anything.

He turned around to face Dean.

"Dean, it's wonderful!" he said finally, turning around to walk towards the couch.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, pride leaking into his bashful expression. Castiel beamed.

"Yeah," he said shyly. Dean laughed.

"Okay, okay. Go get comfy. I've got a six pack in the trunk with our names on it," Dean said, and Castiel did as he was told.

Dean returned a few minutes later with a cooler and a blanket.

"It ain't a picnic or anything, but I always got a little somethin' in the back of baby, just in case. Figured we could use it tonight, you know, 'case you get hungry or cold…" Dean said, propping the cooler open at the foot of the couch. Sitting down, Dean brought his hands to his lap. Castiel observed him as he fidgeted a little, crossing and uncrossing his legs. Castiel chuckled.

"Relax, Dean," he said, and couldn't resist pulling the man's hand into his own. Dean flinched at the contact at first, but then, expression changing to determination, he grabbed Castiel's hand and hauled it over his shoulder. Though Castiel could see the bright flush of Dean's cheek even in the low light of the barn, he didn't say anything as Dean settled further into place.

"Thank you," Castiel said, rubbing his thumb against Dean's shoulder. Dean cleared his throat, body still tense against Castiel's. "For the beer, I mean." Castiel amended, and reached down with his free hand to take one out of the small cooler. Dean opened the bottle and handed it back to Castiel, taking the second beer from Castiel's grasp to open it for himself. Castiel smiled gratefully and took a sip.

They stood in tense silence for a moment, before Castiel shifted his arm, wondering if, despite Dean's bold initiative, the man regretted sitting in this position after all. Then, surprisingly, Dean lifted his right hand to Castiel's that rested on Dean's shoulder and squeezed once. The look Dean gave Castiel was one of nervous questioning, but Castiel took it as a good sign, squeezing back and smiling at Dean. The nervousness in his gaze abated, and Dean began waxing poetic about his teenage years spent getting into detention and hitting on every girl in sight. Castiel laughed at a particular escapade in which a teen Dean was caught kissing the senior cheerleader in the storage closet at school.

"So, how many conquests have you brought here already, Dean Winchester? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me!"

The words were out of Castiel's mouth before he could remember his thin promises to himself to not force the issue of the nature of their relationship. Dean, however, seemed hardly phased. Instead, he fixed Castiel with a look from beneath heavy lids and long lashes.

"You'd be the first," Dean said quietly.

Castiel coughed on the sip of beer he had been attempting to swallow, and the moment was broken by Dean laughing as Castiel tried not to choke.

"Hell, if I'd've known you were that easy to mess with I'd've said cheesy shit like that ages ago!" Dean said, still clapping Castiel on the back. The comment was meant to ease the tension, he could tell, but not even Dean Winchester could fake the way his mouth had parted at the confession, face open and vulnerable in the moment.

Castiel sniffed, raising his chin in mock pride.

"Maybe I am simply acting impressed for your benefit!" Castiel said, thought he knew his argument was flimsy at best. Dean scoffed.

"All that spluttering was an act for my benefit?" Dean asked, incredulous. "Oh, sweetheart," he smirked, leaning in. "If you really wanted to get on my good side, you'd have to do a much better job of swallowing than that."

Castiel tried to think of a response to that, but was saved the trouble when Dean suddenly closed the distance between their lips, mouth brushing up against his tentatively. Pulling back almost immediately, Dean's gaze caught Castiel's, eyes wide. He seemed to be asking for permission. Castiel inhaled sharply through his mouth, nodding his assent, before deliberately sealing his mouth to Dean's.


	2. Chapter 2

Fuck. This man's mouth.

Dean's thoughts weren't exactly coherent when Castiel was biting his bottom lip and pulling on the short hairs at the back of his neck. In fact the best he could do was scattered impressions as Cas launched a full on assault on his mouth.

When Dean pulled back to take a breath, Castiel did not miss a beat, trailing kisses down Dean's neck, shamelessly sucking pink marks along his jaw. The scrape of stubble against his collarbone was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, and Dean arched into the touches, baring his neck further for the man. Castiel hummed, clearly pleased, while he pulled Dean's carefully selected black shirt aside and actually licked a stripe from his clavicle back up to Dean's jaw.

"Goddamn," Dean whispered, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back into the worn cushion of the couch. Castiel glanced up at him; so close that Dean had to cross his eyes a little to see the dark smile etched across his features. His blue eyes were intense as ever, bright with an emotion Dean couldn't (or didn't want to) identify just yet. Castiel's mouth was spit slick, his white teeth flashing in the low light as he surged up and latched onto Dean's earlobe, teeth catching on the sensitive skin. Dean hissed, hips jerking up automatically, and he heard Cas' sandpaper chuckle in his ear.

"Beautiful," Castiel murmured, and Dean felt his face burn with pleasure or shame, he couldn't tell.

This is good though, Dean thought, trying to ignore the whispered praise in his ear. This was a distraction. This, at least, was easier than the way Castiel's hand had come to rest on his when he said thank you. The blatant lust in Cas' eyes was something Dean could concentrate on, would accept, reciprocate even. Maybe he'd never really, voluntarily, technically, been with a man. Maybe he hadn't learned the scratch of stubble on his lips or the press of strong thighs straddling his instead of the plush curves and soft touches he was used to. Maybe the sharp nudge of a hipbone against his was more often than not followed by the sharp push of a hand at the back of his head. Maybe Dean didn't know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of such gentle but fierce attention from any man. But Dean did know sex. He knew want, desire, passion. And the way Cas' hair stood on end, his eyes hooded, pupils blown was a good distraction from the weight of his affectionate gaze earlier.

Seeing as Castiel had taken up permanent residence on Dean's lap, Dean could do little more than whimper at Cas' ministrations. When he tried to lift Castiel, hands coming to grasp the man's waist; Castiel growled at him, then nosed at his neck, nipping at the skin so that Dean couldn't help but blush.

Fuck. Dean could not remember the last time he had sat back and enjoyed making out like a teenager. His most recent memories of sex were mostly women; drunken hookups in generic bars, pit stops to numb the void he felt when he thought of Lawrence. Those encounters were an alcoholic's wine cooler now; the taste of them dull when the distinct flavour of Cas was ripe to savour. Cas was… Shit. He was fucking hot like this, all domineering and taking control, but his every move preceded by questioning, caring eyes, his gaze wide open with each touch. Every time their eyes met, Dean ached with an unidentifiable feeling: like loss, but more profound. It was as if the space between each atom of his being was suddenly a gaping hole throbbing with the raw need to be filled with Cas.

So it was scary. Fucking terrifying to be exact. To look into Cas' reverent eyes each time his lips brushed against Dean's skin was to witness a marriage, completion beyond even Dean's understanding of the word. The heat of it warmed his skin so even when he shut his eyes against the weight of Cas' unwavering gaze, he felt the pinpricks of a thousand needles against his flushed skin, a physical reminder of the penetrative eyes he knew watched him rapturously.

It didn't make sense because this wasn't Dean's first rodeo. Cas wasn't even his first man. Dean had had others; or rather, other men had had him. But whereas men in the past had sought to transactionally own Dean's body, often literally, with possessive fondling and restrictive holds; Cas' touch sought to praise it, worship it, know Dean's body, intimately. It was too much to bear.

Suddenly, instead of the hot, building tension in his gut, Dean felt a rush of cold all over. His palms, still resting on Cas' hips turned moist with chilling sweat, and his fingers twitched with the instinct to throw Cas off of his lap and run as far as he could.

Castiel abruptly lifted his head, stopping mid-kiss, sensing the sudden change in mood, and looked Dean in the eye, waiting for an explanation. Dean shrugged, smiling thinly, but Castiel only frowned, pulling further away. The cold air created by the absence of his touch simultaneously relieved and revolted Dean. He could still feel the hard line of Cas' arousal through denim against his still cocked hip and absurdly felt the need to reassure Cas, to bring back the heated blindness of lust. He could do it, he would do it for Cas. He could do this; he would make it good for him. Dean was made for sex.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean tried for playful. His voice cracked, but he was undeterred. "What? Suddenly gettin' all shy on me? You don't wanna taste of these pretty lips of mine?" Dean coaxed, and the words he'd heard thrown casually at him so many times spilled like bile from his lips unwillingly. Beer rose at the back of his throat in self-disgust when Cas' brow furrowed in concern. Without a word, Castiel dismounted from Dean's lap to sit beside him. Dean's face lit up in utter humiliation at the blatant rejection. The protest for Cas to keep touching him, despite his non-existent erection and a film of sweat along his hairline, died in his throat when Cas took his hand cautiously.

"Dean," he said quietly, but Dean refused to meet his gaze.

"Look, Cas, if you didn't wanna fuck me, you coulda just said something earlier, okay, it's not big deal!" Dean said sharply, twisting his hand away and staring determinedly straight ahead.

Cas calmly reached into Dean's lap to retrieve his hand again. Dean huffed.

"Dean," he said again, and Dean turned towards him, angry retort readied on his lips.

The look of affection, reverence, and deep concern kept Dean silent, however, and he felt the urge to retch again. Unfortunately, it did not pass, and Dean quickly rose to his feet and ran out of the barn.

When he returned, wiping his mouth, it was to Castiel still sitting on the couch, back straight with tension and eyes wide with worry.

"Fuck, Cas, I'm sorry…" Dean started, but Castiel shook his head.

"There is nothing to apologize for, Dean. May I ask what exactly happened? Did I… Was it something that I did or said…?" Castiel asked, and Dean shook his head vehemently.

"Nah, Cas, 'course not. You were…" Dean started, and rubbed the back of his neck, approaching the couch to sit down. "You were amazing. Perfect," he added, very quietly. Castiel dropped his hand to the space left between them on the couch, an invitation. Dean ignored it for the time being.

"So…" Castiel said, eyeing Dean guardedly. Dean sighed.

"This is not how I wanted our second date to go," Dean said finally. Castiel breathed an almost chuckle. Dean sighed again.

"It's alright. I'd say it was the worst reaction I had ever had to my kissing abilities, but honestly throwing up is still second place," Castiel said, attempting to ease the tension somewhat. Dean smiled gratefully, before frowning.

"Wait," he said, narrowing his eyes. "You're saying some poor guy's done worse than blow chunks after sucking face with you? Damn, Cas. What the hell did you do?" Dean asked incredulously. Castiel tipped his head.

"I may or may not have, in the process of 'sucking face', outed myself and him to my extremely conservative family. Unfortunately, I believe being yelled at in Bible verses while being chased from the house surpasses regurgitated food in worst reactions to kissing me," Castiel replied, and Dean snorted softly.

"I know what you're doing," Dean said defensively, but Cas only nodded back at him.

"I am sharing a personal moment with you in order to show you I can be trusted to know a personal matter of yours," Castiel replied, smiling wryly. He moved his hand to Dean's bicep and squeezed it reassuringly. "I am not known for my subtlety," he added.

Dean blew out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"I'm not known for my trustingness, man," Dean said shakily, and Castiel inclined his head for him to continue. "And this is only our second date. So I'm not gonna, like, sit here and braid your hair while we talk about ex boyfriends, mmkay?" Dean added, gruff voice returning. Castiel held up both his hands in mock surrender, but stayed silent still. Dean waited for a moment, unsure of what to divulge.

Finally, Dean took a deep breath and started talking.

"I just…" Dean started, and stopped to clear his throat again. "I've never been with a guy before."

Dean looked up hesitantly before continuing, but Castiel's face remained neutral.

"That's not true. I've never… I've never wanted to be with a guy before. Not for real," Dean mumbled, and he knew Castiel's expression changed then. When he peeked at the man again, however, his expression was unreadable. Castiel's clenched jaw gave a little away, but still his gaze remained free of judgment. Dean soldiered on.

"I mean… I've known that I.. That guys were…" Dean ran a hand through his hair, frustration seeping into his voice when he continued. "I knew what I was, even if I ain't never worn some rainbow flag or done anything about it. But I liked girls, too," Dean looked up at Castiel squarely at that, expecting to be challenged. "I still like 'em. A lot." He added, raising his chin. To his surprise, Castiel nodded, as if he had already known this. Dean huffed. Castiel's eyebrows shot up and he held up his hand placatingly.

"I apologize, I did not mean to minimize…" Castiel started, and Dean rolled his eyes. "I just… Well, I knew that already." He shrugged, but Dean couldn't hide the indignation on his face at Castiel's flippancy.

When Dean folded his arms against his chest and pouted, Castiel smiled tentatively.

"Dean," he said, tone slightly sardonic. "You just finished telling me about making out with a girl in a broom closet…"

"So, that was years ago! I could have been just tryna make everyone believe I was normal back then! She coulda been my beard, I could only be fucking dudes now, you don't know!" Dean protested, unsure as to why he was upset that Castiel's reaction was less than shocked. Wasn't this the ideal situation? His big bad secret, or at least part of it, was finally exposed and Dean found himself actually wanting a reaction? God, that was fucked.

"Dean. First of all, of course you are absolutely right. I do not pretend to have any knowledge or say in who you are engaging in sexual behaviours with; nor the gender of said partners for that matter. But second of all, and more importantly, you are normal. Whether you like men or women or both or none. You must know that. It is really important to me that you understand that," Castiel said solemnly, and Dean's entire body was aflame with a blush. Relief, guilt, pleasure, and shame all warred for dominance and Dean was not entirely sure as to why he couldn't meet Castiel's gaze, but he kept his eyes trained to his lap anyway.

"But I would like to point out that I have eyes. And I am afraid you are a terrible flirt with women for a gay man, if that is the case," Castiel said, and Dean's head shot up in surprise. Seeing the twinkle in Castiel's blue eyes, Dean laughed.

"Well, what can I say?" Dean answered, confident tone a little marred by the vulnerability he felt in the moment. "I've said it before, I'm just adorable."

"Hardly even your fault!" Castiel agreed, and Dean held eye contact with him, grinning, until they both let out another belated chuckle. Dean didn't look away as he slipped his hand into the one Castiel had rested between them earlier and squeezed. He ignored the way his heart pounded and blood rushed to his ears in the split second before Castiel squeezed back. It might have been his imagination, but he had the distinct impression Castiel's smile had widened. Dean let go after a moment though. Gaze returning to his lap, Dean steeled himself for the rest of his story.

"I know that, uh, me being b-… Me liking girls and guys or whatever doesn't really explain the puking over there…" Dean started, but Castiel immediately cut him off.

"Dean, you shared something really difficult with me just now. I have absolutely no expectations for explanations or reasons. It is enough that you trusted me with this piece of you, I promise," Castiel said, a thumb coming up to guide Dean's chin so that he could not avoid Castiel's steady gaze. "I am afraid I got quite… carried away in the moment. I assure you I do not usually move so fast. In the future I will endeavor to go slower with you." But Dean shook his head.

"Nah, man, that's just it. I don't need you to go slower at all, okay? I like…" Dean felt his cheeks heat even further. He must have been nearing purple at this rate. "I like that you're not afraid to just… handle things." Dean muttered, and cleared his throat. "It's just that… I have been through some shit, okay? And the way you look at me sometimes… Cas, I'm not really a good person. I'm kind of a huge dick, actually. I left Sammy when he needed me, and my one job, the only thing I was good at - taking care of him - well I screwed that up. I fuck everything up. And even when I left, and I tried to just keep him away from my stupid shit, he got hurt. He was alone. And I did that. And you just… You can't say shit like I'm b-... like I'm great or whatever because what the fuck do you know, Cas? You don't know shit about me and what I've done," Dean babbled, unable to stop once he got started. He fixed Cas with an unsteady glare. "I ain't mad at you for wanting me, or kissing me, or manhandling me. I ain't fragile, Cas, it's fine. But I'm fuckin' broken, man. And you're… You're you. You're some kinda art-type gorgeous, you live in this old farm house that smells like fuckin' lemons, you don't give a damn about how you look or what people think, you run this stupid little lemonade stand that everyone's apparently dying to visit every day and you look at me like… Like I'm worth more than some small town high school dropout with a record." Dean's jaw clenched with the effort to keep his voice steady.

"If you were actually paying attention, you'd see what I really am which is ninety percent… crap."

Throughout his speech, Castiel had remained stoic, face impassive as ever and silent. At the last quietly delivered admission, however, Castiel's eyes flashed with anger.

"You're right, Dean Winchester. there is much I have yet to learn about you. But I will tell you what I've discovered in the short time I've known you." Dean made to protest, but Cas waved him off.

"I've learned that you love pie, specifically apple pie, and that your idea of a good meal is a cheeseburger and beer. I know you love your car, refer to her with a female pronoun and have named her Baby. I know you have a brother Sam. And I know that when Sam is asked about his brother, he explains how you put him through college when your father couldn't. And I know you care so deeply about him that you would be likely to forget taking care of yourself in order to assure his safety and happiness," Cas said, his discourse tinged with frustration. "Dean, besides the fact that I, in basic principle, believe every human is worth some measure of dignity and respect… Even the smallest parts of you that I have had the privilege to learn about have convinced me that you, specifically you, Dean Winchester, deserve much more than that."

Castiel held Dean's gaze for a moment, before reaching up to touch his bottom lip where it hung open. Blinking, he retracted his hand to his lap calmly and sighed.

"Beyond that, it seems you have developed an unhealthy obsession with my lemonade. As a business owner, I am overjoyed, I must admit. But as a friend I fear I should inform you I think you are unfortunately stuck with me so long as you cannot control your addiction," Castiel said finally.

In light of all the recent confessions and honesty, Dean knew it would be a good time to mention his aversion to the drink that provided Castiel with his livelihood, but he couldn't resist Cas' peace offering and ruin the mood.

"Well, you know me," Dean said instead. "Only in it for your sweet, sweet… lemonade." He leered at Castiel, whose face broke into a genuine smile at the ease in tension.

"I should have known you would make that into some sort of sexual reference," Castiel said, getting up while punching Dean lightly on the shoulder. He tilted his head in askance, and Dean nodded. He wouldn't mind leaving this barn and the emotional baggage he had shared in it.

"Besides," Castiel added, already headed out of the barn, beckoning Dean. "I assure you the taste of my release is much better than that of some sweetened lemon juice."

Dean made a face.

"Gross! Cas. Dude. We seriously need to work on your dirty talk. Fucking "release"? Eugh!" Dean called, as if the calmly uttered sentence hadn't conjured up images of Cas' dry pink lips stretched over... Dean shook his head, turning off the lights in the barn before following Cas out.

"I'd really prefer if you didn't act as if you have never imagined the taste of my semen," Castiel said matter-of-factly. Dean huffed, even as his dick twitched in his pants. He remained speechless. It made him wonder what Cas would sound like if he was trying to turn Dean on. "I've speculated greatly on the flavour of yours." Castiel added as he opened the door to Dean's impala, climbing into the passenger seat.

For a moment, Dean was struck dumb by the images that gem brought on. He stood for a moment, willing the fantasies away before leaning against the roof of his beloved car. Shaking his head, he laughed.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered to himself, opening his door in turn. Second date and Dean Winchester was totally and completely screwed.

After Dean dropped Cas off at home, he didn't return to Sam's apartment or his dad's house straight away. It was still relatively early, despite the delay in getting Cas to his door when they discovered Dean's enthusiasm for making out in Baby's front seat and Dean found himself driving to the hospital. Perhaps it was self destruction, an incendiary reaction to the raw emotions he had laid bare tonight. Perhaps it was guilt. The last look John had given Dean when he had left was one of disappointment and anger, but not shock. It was as if finding Dean and Alastair had been a given, something John had been expecting since Dean was a kid.

Dean pulled up to the hospital parking lot. He didn't even know when visiting hours were. Did it matter if the person you were visiting was in a coma? He turned off the ignition and started walking towards the doors of Lawrence Memorial. He didn't even know why he had come. The weight of John's gaze when he called Dean those names. "Ain't no fairies under my roof, boy. You're a man, act like it!" Dean winced as he remembered the humiliation as his dad stood over him, his fists clenched at his side in an effort to control himself. The way Alastair had just chuckled, as if it was a funny joke… Dean found himself wondering if it had been written on his face when he was born that he wasn't normal, that he was broken. It didn't matter, anyway. John was as good as dead.

And maybe that was the real reason Dean was here at ten thirty in the evening, sneaking past the nurses' station and slipping into the cold hospital room. Maybe it felt good to remind himself that John was gone, and so was Alastair. Maybe it felt good to know that at last, at least, Dean didn't have to think about whether John had eaten that day, how much he had drank, how long until the loud angry rants turned to sobbing, weak fists against Dean's ribs. all the while, Dean would have to make sure Sammy didn't know. Between hiding from his dad, hiding from Sam, hiding from himself, it felt a little like relief watching the machines pump air into John's lungs. Dean hated himself for hating him, but still he held on to bitter joy he felt at no longer being under John's thumb.

He stared at the motionless body in front of him. John looked deceptively calm. Dean didn't think he had ever seen his father look so peaceful, but it figured it would be when he was incapable of speech or cognition. Taking a deep breath, he approached the silent bed. Somehow he still expected John to wake up, tell him to "pack up, come on!" because they were heading somewhere new. Every once in awhile, John would would get a big idea. He would pack Sam and Dean up in the impala and drive to a small town where no one knew him. Sam and Dean would spend a lot of time in the motel while John would go out and gamble or drink or whatever it is he did to forget his dead wife. Mary, Dean's mother, had died in a house fire that had nearly killed Dean's brother Sam.

Dean sighed as he sat down in the beige coloured chair set by the hospital bed. In the distance, a monitor beeped and someone was being called on the intercom. Hospitals always made Dean antsy. He hadn't been to lots growing up, but only because hospitals meant bills. He learned quickly that "taking care of Sammy", as his father had put it, could be a hazardous occupation. Sometimes it meant getting into fights, sometimes it meant skipping school to take a shift at Bobby's. A lot of the time it meant getting good at not getting caught. And if Dean ended up with a broken bone or dislocated limb, he learned really quickly that the easiest thing to do was figure it out himself.

Growing up with John hadn't been all bad though. Whenever they would have to miss school because John had one of his harebrained ideas to leave town, Dean's favourite part was the trip. Driving in the impala with the windows down had quickly become the best moments shared with John. Dean couldn't help but smile at the memories of Sam whining in the back seat and Dean looking over to his Dad, who would squint against the sun. Perhaps Dean had been wrong. Perhaps there was another time in which John had looked just as peaceful.

Someone clearing their throat behind Dean made him jump.

"Um," came a woman's voice, and Dean turned around, flirtatious smile in place. The dark haired woman just raised an eyebrow. Dean coughed and rearranged his features into that of a mourning son. At least, he hoped. She remained unimpressed.

"Visiting hours are over," she said, arms crossed. Dean shrugged.

"S'alright," Dean replied, shaking the odd feelings of nostalgia off with another shrug. "I was just leavin' anyway. He's been quiet tonight anyway." Dean smiled wryly at his bad joke, but the lab coat clad brunette simply looked at him sadly.

Dean was walking to the exit when he heard her call out.

"They can hear you, you know?" she said, and Dean couldn't help the skeptical expression on his face. She nodded emphatically.

"They can. You should tell him," she said, lowering her voice now that Dean had stopped. Dean recoiled under her gaze.

"And what would I tell him, exactly?" he asked.

"Whatever it is you've been wanting to tell him," she said cryptically, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Old man never listened to me when he was alive, lady. 'Don't think he's gonna be startin' any time soon," Dean retorted, turning around to leave again. He could feel the young doctor's eyes on the back of his head though, so he paused.

"You'll have to come in some time soon anyway. You know we can't keep him on that machine forever," she said softly. Dean shrugged, shoulders hunching up, tense.

"I know. I will," was all he said before hurrying out of the hospital. The way she had looked at him had been eery to say the least. And weren't doctors supposed to be sensitive about these matters? How did she know who Dean was, anyway? Had he garnered that much of a reputation as the asshole who kept calling about insurance forms that the staff kept a photo of him in the break room by now? Dean shook his head as he made his way back to the impala.

He rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. Talking to Castiel, then thoughts of his dad, and that unsettling feeling like the doctor had known him… God, Dean needed a drink.

Instead of giving into that good idea, Dean drove to Sam's apartment. He'd been staying at his father's house for most nights these days. He claimed it was because there was so much to do, but really he just didn't like being in Sam's space. The kid was studying already. It was summer! And Sam had already collected quite a few shifts at the coffee shop and spent all his free time blathering on about pre MCAT courses and test scores. When it came time to ask about his day, Dean couldn't find it in him to bother telling Sam about his new restoration job. It all seemed so mundane compared to what was going on with his little brother. Mundane and oddly… reminiscent of the first few weeks of college. Dean could still remember Sam's disappointed look the first night he'd come home drunk, passing out on the couch in the living room where his father was asleep on the armchair. Sam had heard him come home, had stayed up to tell him about his first day at college, but Dean had fallen asleep even while he spoke. The last thing he remembered was the look of disappointment on Sammy's face, which soon turned to eye rolls and sneers in the following weeks. Deciding to leave Lawrence hadn't exactly been a choice at the time, but sometimes Dean still thought Sam was better off without him in his life.

And then tonight, what was Dean supposed to say?

"Hey, Sam, I just hooked up with that guy you like from the farmer's market. Oh, what? You didn't know I was into guys? Yeah, I'm a big fan of cock. Got used to the taste way back when you needed that new laptop for your first year of college. But don't worry, couldn't even get that far this time. Guess I'm only good for it if I'm gettin' paid!"

The thought made bile rise in Dean's throat again, and he tried his best to choke down the panic as he drove back.

Maybe Sam would understand. He'd met Cas. Anyone with eyes could see the man was attractive. Maybe he would forgive Dean that. But Dean couldn't ever imagine telling Sam about the truck stops and the bathrooms. He couldn't even fathom what Sammy would say about what really happened those four months he was away. And Alastair. If Sammy ever found out about Alastair…

It didn't matter anyway. Alastair was long gone. As was John. Sam would never need to know. As long as Dean could get him to go to college. If he could hold the hospital off one more month, if he could pick up enough shifts at the garage to deal with the paperwork, if he could just keep it all together for one more month, Sam could say goodbye to this piece of shit town and his piece of shit brother.

The best part of Dean had always been his little brother, and if he could just get him out, nothing else would matter. As long as Sammy was safe, Dean didn't care about the rest.

Sneaking into the apartment as quietly as possible, Dean set his keys down on the coffee table, not even bothering to change. He shimmied out of his (admittedly quite tight) jeans and stripped off his black shirt. Sighing, he checked his phone before lying back onto the lumpy couch.

Three new messages blinked up at him. All were from Cas.

 **Dean, I just wanted to say thank you for sharing with me tonight… My brother has informed me that it would be wise to wait for you to message me within 72 hours, but I have decided to disregard his advice.**

The message had been sent almost immediately after Dean had dropped him off. Dean smiled unconsciously at the timestamp. The next message was sent a short time later.

 **Apparently 72 hours is the customary time to appear aloof and therefore desirable? I hope I am not completely repulsive in my eagerness to see you again. In fact, 72 hours seems like a very long time to wait. I propose we convene much sooner.**

The last message was much shorter, and was sent around the time that Dean had been climbing the rickety stairs to Sam's apartment.

 **Gabriel may have been right. I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable, Dean. My appreciation for your willingness to be open with me, however, still stands. Goodnight.**

Dean's mood lifted considerably at the series of texts and he hastened to type out a reply.

 _no way idk who this gabriel is, but his advice sux! everyone knows the 3 day rule is for when u get a good lay anyway._

Dean hit send without thinking, then immediately began typing again, biting his lip.

 _of course i wanna see u again cas. but its ur turn to pick._

 _it better b good. i brought u to a romantic barn, buddy._

Dean smiled, heart racing a little as he stared at the screen. His earlier exhaustion mysteriously disappeared to be replaced with a small flutter of excitement and nervousness at the prospect of seeing Cas again.

 **Hmm… I shall think of something. Go to bed, now, Dean. Sleep well.**

 _is that an order?_

Dean answered playfully, not even waiting before hitting send. The reply came almost instantaneously.

 **Yes, Dean.**

Dean swallowed, confused feelings of both excitement and uncertainty coursed through him. He pushed down the strange emotions and aimed for flirtatious instead.

 _well then. yes, sir!_

Dean worried his lip as the response took a little longer to come in this time.

 **Good boy.**

Dean gaped at the phone for a second, unsure if he had read it right. Most of his blood rushed to his face in embarrassment; Dean could feel the blush burning the skin of his face and neck. The rest of his shot straight to his dick, which was somehow even more shameful. Dean was glad that Castiel was unable to witness the sight of him staring open mouthed at his screen in the dark.

 **Goodnight, Dean ;)** came Castiel's reply and Dean's shock was immediately replaced by amused annoyance.

That little shit. Castiel would pay for that.

Castiel was just packing up for the day when a customer rang the bell several times at the front of the stand. It was nearly nine in the evening and Castiel had taken a double shift. Anna had been under the weather, though Castiel suspected it was due to how late she had stayed at Gabe's bar last night. Then again, Castiel could not bring himself to blame her. She had had a rough go of it since coming to meet him in Lawrence. It wasn't too long ago that he himself had taken a break on one of Gabe's bright green stools. Unfortunately, Anna's constitution was slightly less robust than Castiel's and when she called him this morning in order to tell him she could not come in for the afternoon shift, Castiel had winced at sound of a flush of a toilet very nearby.

Thus Castiel had spent the entire day at the stand. And in the three days since it had rained, the weather had been accumulating that thick, electric feel of the calm before a big storm. Thus, the heat and humidity had brought a near constant line to the stand that had only wound down in the last half hour, allowing Castiel to start packing up for the night.

So when the bell dinged one last time before Castiel even had the chance to turn around, it was with great effort that he put on his worn out smile and peeked out from behind the small partition where the lemonade was kept. The customer was tapping one hand against the counter impatiently while gazing up at the sky. Castiel squinted at the man in annoyance, but when the customer turned back to the stand, frowning and arms crossed, Castiel's smile turned much more genuine.

It had been almost a week since he had seen Dean last, but every time Castiel caught a glimpse of him, he was painfully aware of how beautiful he was. The sun had just set, and the purple-blue hues of dusk made Dean's pale skin stand out against his plain white tee shirt. The warm weather meant Dean had foregone his usual flannel over shirt, leaving his thin undershirt to cling against his sweaty skin. No, even texting and calling almost every day since the barn hadn't been enough.

Castiel had wanted to see Dean, but every time he thought up an idea, it seemed trite and cliche compared to the meaningful moment they had shared in the abandoned barn. Dean had spent most of his adolescent years taking care of his little brother, Castiel knew that much from what Sam had alluded to and what Dean had confirmed that night. For him to have brought Castiel to a common teenage hangout may have seemed cheap to most, but Castiel knew that this was Dean sharing something of himself. Perhaps he was reading too much into the choice of location, but paired with the confessions he shared… Needless to say, Castiel wanted to impress. So far, his best idea had been to invite Dean over to his home to meet the bees, but compared to the meaningful night they had shared, Castiel hadn't been able to commit to the idea fully.

His eyes were drawn to a sudden change of position and Castiel's mouth watered as Dean shifted to place a hand on each hip in mock annoyance.

"Service here is awful! Hello?" Dean called out, staring at Castiel, mirth dancing in his eyes. Castiel put on his apologetic smile.

"I sincerely apologize, sir. What can I do for you?" Castiel said, hurrying to the counter.

"Well since that took forever, I'm gonna need at least 2 gallons of your finest lemonade post hence!" Dean declared, banging his fist on the counter.

Castiel ducked his head, looking up at Dean shyly.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I believe we are completely out of lemonade," he pouted, exaggeratedly batting his lashes. He bit back a smirk when Dean's expression of fake anger wavered slightly. "However can I make it up to you, sir?"

Dean seemed to consider making another remark, but closed his mouth halfway through, thinking better of it. Instead, Castiel found himself being suddenly hauled across the (thankfully) small counter by his collar so that he was practically lying across the entire surface, hands still grasping the far edge. And then Dean was kissing him and Castiel forgot all about the charade.

It was several minutes before Dean let go of him, with Castiel scrabbling at the counter to regain his balance on the right side of it as their lips parted. His eyes were still closed when Dean leaned over to peck him on the lips again.

"Sorry," Castiel thought he heard mumbled against his lips. "'missed you, Cas."

But then Dean was already standing back, smirking at Castiel as though it never happened. Only the slight pink tinge on his cheeks spoke of the maybe-mumbled confession. Cas sighed happily all the same.

"That's just the first installment, though," Dean said loudly, and Castiel realized he had been staring at Dean's freckles again. Snapping back to attention, he tried to figure out Dean's words.

"I don't understand," he said finally, head tilted in concentration. Dean laughed, pink tongue coming out to wet his lips and successfully drawing Castiel's gaze again.

"For your repayment. That was a good start, but I'm not done with you," Dean explained. Then, eyes widening and hands returning to his jeans pockets, he added, "I mean, if you want, of course."

It was Castiel's turn to laugh. As if he would ever be able to say no to this man.

"I am certain we will be able to come to an agreement," Castiel replied, and Dean smiled back at him. A moment passed before Castiel was reminded that Dean must have had a reason for his visit.

"So," he said, unsure if he should break the moment but decidedly exhausted by his long day. "I was not truthful earlier. We do still have lemonade, if you would like some."

Dean's eyes widened and he shook his head insistently.

"No, no!" he said quickly, and suddenly he was nervous again. Castiel raised an eyebrow. "I, uh, actually came to return this!" Dean said, and he blushed suspiciously. Castiel narrowed his eyes at what was in Dean's hand.

"You, uh… I accidentally took this when we first met," Dean babbled, and his free hand was rubbing his neck in Castiel recognized as a nervous gesture. "So yeah, I just thought you might need it, or something." Dean finished with a self-deprecating smile. Castiel swallowed a laugh, looking over at the boxes upon boxes of empty mason jars piled next to the main juice distributor. Dean followed his gaze and bit his lip, face burning brighter.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel said, fighting to keep his voice steady as a giggle threatened to bubble up. Dean's eyes snapped back to his and thankfully he was laughing too.

"You give those away so people can get refills, don't you?" Dean said finally, a hint of humour belaying the embarrassment in his voice.

"No," Castiel said, and Dean raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Of course not, Dean. Every mason jar plays a very special role at this establishment. In fact, I had alerted the authorities of this particular missing jar quite a while ago now. I am glad you finally decided to come clean,." Castiel paused for dramatic effect. "Don't worry, though, I won't press charges... this time."

Castiel plucked the jar from Dean's hand before he could protest and brought it to the back, where other mason jars to be cleaned rested in several milk crates. Returning to the front, Castiel found Dean shuffling his feet, clearly uncomfortable. He frowned.

"Alright, well. Okay. Yeah," Dean said, hand unconsciously coming up to run through his hair again. "So, well. That's done. So I guess I'll just…"

Dean trailed off, looking up at Castiel, who realized this was a cue for him to suggest Dean stay. How absurd, thought Castiel. Dean never needed a reason to stay.

"No!" Castiel yelped, when Dean made to walk away at his silence. He turned back to face Castiel, whose turn it was now to be blushing a little too.

"I don't have a good idea for a date," Castiel blurted, mentally kicking himself at how that sounded. Dean's eyes were like saucers now. "I mean, I don't… I don't do this often."

"What? Get stalked by customers?" Dean said, smiling wryly. Castiel shook his head, chuckling a little as the tension eased in his shoulders. He rolled them back.

"No. I meant," he said, catching Dean's eye and holding his gaze. "I am not in habit of asking attractive men out on imaginative dates." Dean laughed warmly, still staring back at Castiel.

"Well, neither am I, Cas," Dean said.

"Good," Castiel said, adopting a lower timbre and revelling in the way Dean straightened at the sound. Perhaps Castiel lacked finesse in the romance department, but he was well versed in the language of Making-Dean-Squirm. Dean frowned in confusion, opening his mouth in protest, presumably to ask how this trait could be a good thing. Castiel simply smiled.

"I've heard that is a hard habit to break," Castiel explained, before Dean had a chance to reply. "And I don't plan on sharing."

Castiel did not bother to hide his smirk when Dean swallowed. Instead, he turned around to pack up his things, and let Dean compose himself. Surprisingly, within ten seconds Dean was replying.

"Well, uh, anyway," he said shakily, then cleared his throat. "I think we should do something. Tonight."

Castiel turned around, attempting to keep his mouth from breaking into a huge smile. His lips twitched, despite his efforts, and Dean noticed.

"We could go out to dinner somewhere, maybe? Like a…" Dean seemed to struggle for a moment, composing himself. "Like a r-real date." He finished finally. Castiel beamed this time, hands grasping the counter hard.

"I know a place that makes a mean burger," Dean said, encouraged.

"That would be lovely, Dean. But…" Castiel said, looking around to the stacks of dirty dishes and half packed supplies. It really had been a very long day. He cursed himself for letting Anna off the hook so easily. He was such a sucker for the waif-like girl.

He was too busy staring at his unfinished work to hear Dean's mumbled apology, but he caught the tail end of it when he flicked his attention back to the man in front of him.

"... I get it. I didn't really mean like a date though, I mean, we could just grab a beer and some grub, I don't wanna make it weird or…"

Castiel held up a hand.

"No, Dean, that's not it at all," he said firmly, attempting to catch Dean's gaze again. "I have just had arguably the longest day of my life and nothing would please me more than to sit down with a cold refreshment in your company." He said, moving to rest a hand on Dean's shoulder as he spoke for emphasis. Dean nodded his understanding. "However," Castiel continued. "I do still have quite a bit of cleanup here and I would not want to keep you waiting… Perhaps we could reconvene at a later time, so that I could finish? Or maybe that would be too late… Would you prefer to resched-"

Dean waved a hand in front of him.

"Nah, Cas. No way," he said, glancing around the stall. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

He disappeared around the corner, and a knock sounded at the back door of the small stall.

"Let me in, you big dope!" Dean called happily from the other side. Castiel shook his head, smiling.

They worked together in comfortable silence for a while. Castiel gathered the supplies and took an inventory of what was sold, wasted, and kept, while Dean was instructed to deal with the dirtied mason jars.

Feeling terrible that he had basically convinced Dean into free labor, Castiel sighed.

"This does not count as the special romantic date I still owe you," Castiel said, suddenly worried that Dean would get tired of helping and leave before Castiel could enjoy the promised burgers and beer with him.

"I don't know, man, backstage access to one of the hottest lemonade stands in Kansas, this feels a little like a romantic date," Dean said, moving a little awkwardly around Castiel in the cramped space.

Dean had to reach across Castiel to retrieve a stray glass. He placed a hand on the small of Castiel's back as he moved past him, and Castiel hummed his approval. The gesture was so familiar, so affectionate that Castiel found himself reacting instinctively. Before he even knew what he was doing, he had pinned Dean up against the tower of milk crates leaning precariously out of the stand. Dean's hand was still glued to his lower back and Castiel

"Dean Winchester, I assure you, when I've taken you on a romantic evening, you will know it," he growled. "And I certainly hope the manual labor will be of a completely different nature."

The way Dean's heart sped up under where Castiel's palm was pressed up against his chest did not help Castiel in his struggle to bring himself under control again. The things he would do to the beautiful, blushing man who stood before him… Castiel had to close his eyes, inhaling deeply before pushing back and composing himself. Dean deserved much better than washing mason jars in a tiny overheated merchant's stall at a farmer's market. Castiel would make sure this man got everything he deserved for as along as Dean was willing to accept it. Dean gaped at him and no small amount of arousal shone in his green eyes.

"Now, get to work," he said firmly and Dean hurried to lift the milk crates out behind the stall to where Castiel's car was parked.

When Castiel finally emerged from the overheated cabin a good twenty minutes later, the night air hit him with a fresh wave of humidity and he felt himself go weak with exhaustion. Thankfully, just as his knees buckled, Dean was at his side.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Dean said, concerned, arm resting comfortably around Castiel's shoulders. Castiel's own arm came up to wrap around Dean's hip as they walked. His gait wobbled with fatigue, so if Castiel squeezed a little possessively, no one could blame him for seeking the reassuring balance of Dean's solid frame.

"Mr. Bossy ain't so bossy anymore, huh?" Dean teased. Castiel bristled at the jab, but Dean sobered. "Are you sure you wanna go out, man? You look exhausted… We can just do this another night or somethin'..."

Cas just shook his head, stretching out his muscles and nestling into Dean a little further as they made their way to his car.

"Alright, alright. But you ain't drivin' anywhere in your condition. And if I catch you nodding off in the car, I'm drivin' you straight back to your place, ya hear?" Dean said, poking Castiel in the ribs. Castiel nodded, too tired to protest.

Once Dean had secured him in the passenger seat, he yawned widely, letting his eyelids droop a little. Dean slammed the driver's seat closed, waking Castiel up.

"Cas, you gotta get some sleep," Dean said, so Castiel sat up straighter, yawning again.

"Dean," he tried, but his yawn ruined his attempt to be authoritative. He groaned in frustration. "Dean." He repeated, and this time the word came out at least a little firmer.

"I cannot imagine a greater pleasure than consuming red meat and mild alcohol with you tonight," Castiel said. When Dean looked like he might protest, Castiel continued, "If you are still worried I am pushing myself too far, you may stick to your rule. But I assure you I will not fall asleep in this car, comfortable as she might be."

Castiel saw Dean's shoulders relax, eyes turning a little fond at the gendered pronoun.

"However, I will require entertainment if I am to stay awake," Castiel said, and Dean smiled playfully.

"Entertainment, huh?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Yes," Castiel confirmed, playing along. "Are there games that people often play when in such a situation?"

"You mean like road trip games?" asked Dean, eyes lighting up. Castiel knew what road trips were, but had seldom traveled by car to any place farther than an hour or two. His family had usually simply taken a plane. "Aw, Cas. We're only gonna be in the car for a half hour tops. All the good games take way longer."

Castiel crossed his arms, pouting.

"Fine… If we're gonna be cliche…" Dean said, hesitantly, and Castiel raised in eyebrows in interest. "Haha, fine Cas, you win. We can play truth or dare. But I'm going first!"

Castiel laughed.

"Good. I accept the terms," Castiel nodded, rolling down his window as Dean pulled out of the parking lot behind the nearly deserted market. "Go on."

Dean rubbed his hand together quickly, resting them back on the steering wheel as they drove slowly along the country road.

"Alright, Cas. Truth or dare?" he asked, and Castiel took his time answering.

He had played this game once with Balthazar. It had been a nightmare. In fact, he surprised himself in agreeing to play it now, with Dean. But part of him wanted to take the risk. Something about Dean brought out parts of Cas he thought had been sucessfully buried, tamed, all but forgotten. And sitting beside him now, Dean's gaze shifting from the road to his eyes, a wide smile almost permanently etched onto his delicate feature, Castiel found it hard to feel any fear or worry. In fact, the way Dean grinned at him boyishly once again reminded Castiel of being sixteen - unsure, inexperienced, but willing to try. The beat of his heart pushed thoughts of sleep away from his mind quite easily.

"Truth," Castiel answered finally. Okay, so, willing to try, yes, but still mostly unsure and inexperienced.

"Coward!" Dean said, and Castiel lifted his chin in feigned indifference. "Fine." Dean chewed his lip as he thought, and Castiel couldn't help but squirm in anticipation.

"We'll start with an easy one..." Dean reassured him.

"So you never told him? Even after the sheets were cleaned and the pancakes were thrown out?" Castiel shook his head, still laughing too much to properly answer. "Oh my God, Cas. You're a fuckin' mastermind!"

"Gabriel deserved it," Castiel wheezed. "Seriously! I assure you he had done much worse pranks in the past."

"Still," Dean said, eyes shining as the light of the roadhouse came into view. "You impress me, dude."

"Ah, well," Castiel replied, unfastening his seatbelt as Dean parked the car. "That is, as always, my number one goal."

Dean laughed. Then, noticing Castiel's hand move to the handle, he hastened to get out of his own seat.

"Hold on," he said hurriedly. "Hold on, hold on, hold on…"

Dean continued to mutter as he got out of the car and rounded the hood. He came to a stop in front of Castiel's door and opened it with a flourish.

"Milady," he said, before catching himself. Bringing up a palm to his forehead, he he winced. "I mean, er…"

"Thank you, good sir," Castiel replied, nodding, as if he was attributed the female title regularly. Dean laughed. He grasped Dean's proffered arm with enthusiasm and they made their way to the entrance.

Before opening the door, Dean grinned a little sheepishly, tugging on Castiel's arm.

"Listen, alright," Dean said, suddenly solemn. Though he was only a couple of inches shorter than Dean, Castiel still had to tilt his head up as he gazed at the man with an equally serious expression, attentive.

"I, uh, I know the people who run the bar…" Dean started, and Castiel nodded immediately, letting go of Dean's arm. Dean shook his head. "It's not that I don't want them to know about us…" Dean continued, but Castiel raised both hands up in a placating gesture.

"Though it will come at a great effort on my part, I am perfectly capable of keeping my hands off of you while in public, Dean," he said seriously, and Dean laughed again.

"First of all, yeah right," Dean scoffed, eyeing the way Castiel's fingers had twitched after his full bodied laugh. "And second of all, thanks…" Dean added, more quietly. Castiel brushed his knuckles over Dean's hand. Dean grinned wryly at the touch.

"Told you," he said, smirking. Castiel rolled his eyes.

"I just want to make it clear that I remain unoffended at your unspoken request. Sentiments seem to sink in better when I touch you as I say them," Castiel said, sniffing, and made to walk away, head high, into the bar. Dean grabbed his shirt, stopping him.

"Okay, woah," Dean said, crowding in close to the still haughty man in front of him. "I'm not even gonna… Whatever, that's not true. And," Dean continued, voice dropping lower, tone turning serious, "it's not because I don't want people to know. I just… I don't know if this is… It's new and weird, but like good weird and I... I just, I gotta tell Sammy first, okay? I wanna tell him first." Dean said, and brushed his mouth along the corner of Castiel's, unable to resist. "But I do want you to meet these assholes, too. And Ellen does make a mean burger."

Castiel smiled, bringing Dean in for a quick kiss in front of the still closed doors. Dean eyed the window surreptitiously, unable to repress a small thrill at the thought of getting caught. He deepened the kiss unconsciously.

"Well with an argument like that," Castiel said, breaking the kiss and smirking up at the green eyed man. Dean punched his arm and grabbed the door handle.

Dean sighed as the cool air of his aunt Ellen's roadhouse hit him upon entering the establishment. God bless air in front of Castiel so that the man wasn't privy to the slightly terrified expression on his face, Dean walked confidently towards a booth in the back. A large part of him wanted to share his favourite place and two of his favourite people with this guy who had somehow weaseled his way into most of Dean's thoughts lately. Some of his nerves could definitely be attributed to the pressure Dean himself had put on Castiel enjoying the food and the atmosphere. Another part of him, the one that was steadily growing the longer he went without Castiel's reassuring gaze, worried that it might be a lot worse than Castiel simply not liking the food or even Aunt Ellen. What if Dean somehow let something cheesy about Castiel slip in front of Ellen? What if Jo, her feisty daughter, caught Dean doing something damning like squeezing Castiel's hand under the table? Dean was sweating by the time they sat down in a corner booth, and he smiled thinly when he turned around to gesture to Castiel to sit opposite him. That at least took out the option of holding hands. Dean wasn't sure if he was relieved at that prospect or disappointed in himself for his cowardice.

Glancing up at Castiel from the menu, he noticed the man hadn't even looked at the choices, but was gazing at Dean, concern written all over his face. Dean's shoulders drooped as he let go of a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"Dean, we can just leave…" Castiel started, but Dean looked him in the eye.

"Nah, man," Dean said sincerely, "I wanna be here. I want you to be here. I'm just kinda nervous, 'is all." Dean smiled more confidently. Castiel's mouth turned up slightly at the corners.

"If you're sure…" he said, still doubtful. "I don't have to meet your friends straight away. I don't mind. I just want to spend more time with you."

Dean smiled at Castiel's genuine stare.

"Sap," he muttered, and Castiel pursed his lips to hide a grin at the weak admonishment. "It's fine, man. I'm being a dick. It'll be great. Besides, they ain't friends, Cas; they're family. And you're my… my friend. You're important to me. I want them to meet you," Dean said, and he nudged his boot against Castiel's calf. Castiel ducked his head. "They're gonna love you."

And Dean meant it. Despite whatever panicky feelings were bubbling up at the thought of just how much he wanted his family to like Cas, or perhaps just how much Cas already meant to him, Dean wanted this. Aunt Ellen and her daughter Jo had been a family to the boys when their mom had died. And even if he wasn't planning on letting his freak flag fly any time soon, a big part of Dean still craved their approval. Not that it really mattered. Looking up into Cas' pleased blue eyes reconfirmed what Dean had known for a while now, maybe since the day he met the lemonade stand owner: he was gone on this weird, dorky little dude.

Third fucking date, dude, Dean reminded himself, but his line of thought was cut off by a loud throat clearing.

"Well, well, well," came the trill of a woman's voice. Dean groaned inwardly. He may or may not have sent a little prayer out that Jo wouldn't be their server tonight. He glared at the ceiling before pasting on a smile.

"Heya Joanna Beth!" Dean said, but the petite blonde just crossed her arms over her chest and squinted at him.

"Heya?" she said loudly, and Dean winced. "Heya?! Six months and no call, and all you've got to say is 'heya'?! I oughta…"

"I'm sorry, Jo. I've been busy!" Dean tried, but Jo was tucking her notepad into the band of her short denim shorts already. Dean lifted his hands in surrender. "I brought you someone!" He said quickly, gesturing to Cas. Castiel's eyes widened, and he coughed into the back of his hand, holding out his other one for Jo. She eyed him suspiciously.

"Hello," he said cautiously, "My name is Castiel."

Jo raised an eyebrow, turning to Dean. She had definitely inherited the terrifying and intimidating glare from her mother. Dean bravely lifted his chin defiantly at her stare.

"And this is supposed to help me, how?" she asked, and Dean shrugged.

"He's kinda cute?" Dean said helpfully, then kicked himself mentally for the slip. He willed his cheeks not to blush as Jo's eyebrows climbed even higher up her forehead.

"And is that supposed to be some kinda incentive for me or for you?" Jo asked, and Dean harrumphed, rubbing his jaw. Frowning, he adopted his most authoritative tone.

"This is my friend Castiel, Jo. Please be nice to Castiel, Jo," he said, ignoring the question. Jo pursed her lips.

"Oh I get it. He's your witness in case I pull out the knives," she said, hands coming to rest on her hips. Dean blanched when Jo leaned in to Castiel's space. The man tensed his shoulders, but held her gaze. Dean almost smiled proudly. Jo was five foot four of tiny blonde scariness. Not to mention crossing her meant crossing her much scarier mother. Dean shuddered at the thought.

"I hope you know that I can and will whoop Dean's ass if he puts a toe outta line, whether you're here to witness it or not," Jo threatened. Castiel blinked once.

"Good," Castiel replied finally, eyes never leaving Jo's. "Dean could probably benefit from some discipline in his life. I'm glad to hear I won't be alone in ensuring his good behaviour." Dean spluttered fruitlessly while Jo seemed to consider that for a moment.

Then, straightening herself up, she turned to Dean, who was staring, open mouthed and considerably flushed, at Castiel.

"I like this one," she said, nonplussed, then tapped her pen on her notepad. "So the usual for you and your friend Cas here, then?"

Dean continued to gape, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Both parties stared at him as if he was the one acting strange. He deflated with a sigh.

"Yeah," he mumbled, and Jo wrote down the order without batting an eye.

"You'll still have to talk to my mom, you know? Not even this cutie'll get you outta that mess!" Jo said, turning on her heel. Dean groaned loudly, bringing his hands up to his face.

"You dick!" he said, voice muffled by his fingers. Castiel's purposefully blank expression cracked as his mouth twitched minutely. Dean peeked at him through his hands.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Castiel said airily, and Dean kicked him under the table, hard.

"Hmm," Castiel simply hummed, foot slipping up Dean's calf. "I seem to remember saying something about you being on your best behaviour tonight." Castiel's big toe dragged the cuff of Dean's jeans up a little. Dean's breath hitched, but the moment was suddenly broken by Castiel dropping his foot. He drew his hands up to his face to cover up a loud yawn.

"Ugh," he said, clearly just as disappointed as Dean. "I apologize, Dean, I-"

Castiel was cut off by another loud yawn. Dean chuckled.

"I would ask you if you wanna go home, but it's too late now," Dean said, gesturing to the bar area. "And I know you'd say no anyway. So I guess I just gotta distract you with more questions or somethin'."

Castiel smiled as Jo approached the table with two beers.

"Ellen's heard you're here. You'd best get over to the bar when you got a chance," Jo said in way of greeting. Dean rolled his eyes and waved her off.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll get to it, alright? Just let us eat in peace," Dean said dismissively, and Jo snorted.

"Way more confident than he has any right to be," Jo said to Castiel.

"Agreed," Cas replied, and winked at her. Dean huffed.

"Get outta here and stop flirting with my friends," Dean pouted. Jo laughed outright at that.

She turned to leave, but not without Dean hearing her mutter something about "ain't got eyes for anyone else in here". He shook off her comment and turned back to Castiel.

"So, where were we? Before that she-demon interrupted…" Dean said, settling back into his seat and blinking at Castiel.

"You were offering to distract me from my exhaustion," Castiel said, lips quirking at his own phrasing. Dean cleared his throat.

"Right," Dean said, but then sat silent, momentarily unsure of what to say. He sipped at his drink, trying to think of something to say when Castiel cleared his throat.

"Did you know, uh," Castiel said, looking up at Dean from his glass, "did you know that bees can recognize human faces?"

Dean snorted.

"Really," he said, attempting to keep the sarcasm in check (and failing miserably).

"I know you have mentioned in the past that bees are not your favourite subjects, but they are such interesting creatures, Dean. You should give them a chance," Castiel continued, and Dean easily identified nervous babbling. Normally, he would find it irritating. In fact, the last time he had been on a date, a real date - what was it? two or three years ago now - Dean had only lasted a couple of minutes into the small talk before he had effectively ruined any prospect of taking the date further than a one night stand by using his mouth to shut her up. But somehow, even though he couldn't care less about bees or their ability to recognize faces, he didn't mind it as much when Castiel was talking.

In fact, it was kind of reassuring to hear the man babble on about how many different species of bees there were ("more than 20,000") and how the male "drones" died after sex ("Their entire endophallus detaches after mating, Dean. They die of rupture abdomens!"). So much of Dean's time was spent feeling like Castiel was this all knowing, all powerful being who remained consistently patient and kind throughout Dean's fuckups, it was just nice to be reminded that this was still the off-beat, strange man who had approached Dean from a lemonade stand at the farmer's market.

It was a beat before Dean realized Castiel had been waiting for an answer. He shrugged guiltily.

"Sorry, what?" Dean said, and Castiel's shoulders dropped in disappointment.

"Nothing," Castiel said, and his whole demeanor so closely resembled Sammy's kicked puppy look whenever Dean didn't stopped paying attention after his first "Get this!" that Dean had to concentrate on that last thing he remembered Castiel saying to repeat it.

"No, no!" he protested, wracking his brains for the last bee fact he remembered. "Sorry, Cas. It was just a bit too fast for me. I ain't a genius like you over here; just a mechanic, remember? Tell me again… The bees don't like pears?"

"Exactly!" Castiel nodded, eyes wide with excitement again. Dean smiled back encouragingly. God, this man was a dork. A fucking adorable dork, Dean thought. "Well, it isn't that they don't like them, but bees actually get pollen from their favourite flowers first! They are basically picky eaters, it is absolutely fascinating, don't you think?"

"How come you love bees so much, Cas?" Dean asked, instead of answering.

Castiel tilted his head in consideration.

"I think… I like to watch them," Castiel said seriously. Dean cocked an eyebrow, taking another sip. "Honeybees are so small, they should be insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But it's funny how much we rely on them to keep this planet alive.

I'm not sure why I've always had such a fascination with this particular insect, but I suspect it has something to do with my family. My mother always taught me that we were God's little soldiers, that we were insignificant little beings and that God could crush us whenever He saw fit…" Castiel seemed lost in thought as he continued quietly. "But when I see the bees… It reminds me that we each have our small role to play. Do the bees know they determine our very existence?" Castiel asked, looking up at Dean expectantly. Caught off guard, Dean shrugged, totally at a loss for a response. Castiel shrugged back. "Probably not. But the worker bee gets the nectar and the queen bee lays the eggs and even the drones march to their death to make sure the colony survives… Do they even know why they do what they do? I don't know. But maybe humans could learn a lesson from bees."

Dean hadn't expected such an elaborate answer, so when Castiel smiled at Dean blithely, he could only stare back, eyebrows raised.

"Sorry," Castiel said, grinning and ducking his head. "I really like bees."

"Nah," Dean said quickly, recovering. "No need to apologize."

He was saved from further comments on bee philosophy when Jo arrived with their order.

"Eat up, assholes!" Jo called as she replaced their beers at the same time, already leaving the table. Dean chuckled and shook his head.

"The mouth on that girl," he muttered, but choked on his next words when a near pornographic moan seemed to issue from Cas' mouth.

"Mmh, Dean," Cas said around the burger he seemed to be currently inhaling. "This makes me very happy."

The man's eyes had been closed, clearly enjoying his meal, but he opened them to look at Dean as he swallowed. Dean mirrored the action, burger still a few inches from his mouth.

"Thank you," Castiel said, "for bringing me here."

"It was nothin'," Dean replied, taking a bite and revelling in the familiar taste of grease, red meat, cheese, and bacon. Yep, Aunt Ellen still made a mean burger.

It was some time later, after they had both chatted some more and eaten, that they were both sipping their beers and smacking their mouths at the satisfying meal consumed. Dean tried not to feel too proud of the way Castiel hummed in apparent contentment upon the last bite.

"Dean, that was delicious," Castiel said, and his foot knocked against Dean's for the dozenth time that night. Dean had switched to water halfway through the meal, but Castiel had been steadily ordering beers all night. Dean grinned a little at the flush in his cheeks.

"Glad you liked it," Dean said, and even though he'd only had two beers, he felt buzzed staring into those blue eyes. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, knees bumping under the table.

"I reckon we oughta say hi to Ellen soon," Dean said finally, effectively breaking the moment. "Kitchen'll be closing up soon."

"Okay," Cas said, grinning as he stood. He swayed a little, so Dean slipped easily to his side to steady him.

"Woah, there, drunkie," he said, but Castiel laughed.

"I am not inebriated, Dean," Castiel said, and Dean only kind of believed him. He raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Really!" Castiel insisted. "Alright, I may be slightly… tipsy," he conceded at Dean's doubtful look, "but I assure you most of it is exhaustion." As if to prove his point, Castiel's eyelids drooped a little as he swayed on the spot again.

"Alright, a quick hello to Ellen, then off to bed with you," Dean said firmly, practically supporting Cas on their way to the bar.

"'Bout damn time you make your way over here, boy," came Ellen's sharp tone from the other side of the bar. Jo had her "you're in trouble" face on as she stealthily walked away from the bar. Dean sighed.

"Sorry, Ellen, but can you blame me for wantin' to care of my friend here?" Dean tried, but Ellen was having none of it.

"From the sounds of it, this young man can take care of himself," Ellen said, nodding to Jo, who trying to make her escape through a group of rowdy patrons. "Which is a lot more'n I can say for your idiot self. What on earth have you been doing for the past 6 months, boy? No time for your aunt Ellen?"

Dean shrugged guiltily, unwilling (and probably unable) to tell a bald faced lie to the woman who nearly raised him. He opened his mouth to talk, but found himself unable to justify his absence and subsequent avoidance of this once beloved bar. Castiel's hand, which had wrapped around Dean's middle as he supported him, squeezed his waist in solidarity. Dean glanced briefly at the man beside him, surprised to find his gaze a little blurred from unshed tears. He brought a hand up to rub his face, embarrassed at the unexpected emotions. Ellen's tone softened.

"Don't you let that happen again, ya hear?" she said after a moment, and Dean nodded furiously. Ellen slammed a box on the table.

"I've been watching you two all night, and you friend here's 'bout ready to tip over and fall asleep. You're takin' this to go," she said, sliding the cardboard box over to Dean, who took it hungrily. "And you better make sure you get this boy to bed, Dean."

Dean started at the implication, but Ellen had already turned around, and Castiel was leaning heavily into his side.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean said, "let's get you home."

On the ride home, Castiel had somehow convinced Dean to stay over at his place.

"You tryna get into my pants, Cas?" Dean had said, only half kidding. He had yelped when Castiel's hand had come out of nowhere to squeeze his thigh, eyes blazing.

"Of course," he replied calmly, finger dancing along Dean's inseam. He removed his hand from Dean's leg and sat demurely on his side of the bench. "But also your shift only begins in the late afternoon, and it just makes sense not to waste gas."

Dean couldn't be bothered that the logic was paper thin, he shivered at the memory of warm sheets and a warm Cas to wake up to.

"Alright," he said, but it sounded a little strained. "Okay," he said again, more confidently, and ignored the little smirk on Castiel's face.

The drive to Cas' place passed by pretty quickly after that, what with Castiel's sleepy hands intermittently running over Dean's thighs and arms. Periodically, Castiel would stretch, and Dean caught a glimpse of pale skin over sharp hipbones that kept him wide awake despite the late hour.

Finally, they arrived at the small farmhouse, and Castiel trudged sleepily to the door. As he fumbled for his keys, Dean couldn't resist crowded up against Cas' back, smiling into his neck when the man dropped his keys in surprise. Apologetic, Dean quickly bent to retrieve them, and wrapped his hand around Castiel's waist as he stood up flush against him. He swayed a little to an unheard rhythm as Castiel chuckled softly.

"You are very cute when you are trying to seduce me while I'm driving, you know that?" Dean said, rocking Castiel's stiff hips to the imaginary song. The man hummed, smiling as he tilted his head back onto Dean's shoulder, giving him access to the pale column of Cas' neck.

"Is that so?" Castiel asked, voice quiet and sleep-rough.

"It is so," Dean replied, moving in to suck at Castiel's throat. His breath hitched slightly, and Dean grazed his teeth on an earlobe experimentally. A sound that closely resembled a growl vibrated against Dean's lips. Dean breathed in through his nose, inhaling the smell of Cas. He hummed appreciatively against the back of Castiel's neck.

"We should, ah. We should go inside," Castiel said, hips swaying on their own, face turned up towards to the still exceptionally hot night air, closed eyes against the countless stars. The man was fucking gorgeous, even with the faint bags under his eyes. Dean sucked in a shaky breath.

Third fucking date, he reminded himself, stepping back.

Cas whimpered at the loss - fuck, that was a good noise coming from his pink mouth - but took the opportunity to unlock the door and walk in. The distance between them allowed Dean to clear his head a little.

When Dean hesitated at the entrance, Castiel turned around with a hungry look in his eye. Dean thought about just going along with it. His dick gave an enthusiastic twitch at the thought of following Cas up those stairs for much more than just sleep. But he stopped himself. This wasn't just some one night stand. This was Cas: lemonade stand owner Cas, occasional bartender Cas, apparent past prankster of a little brother Cas. This was a man who didn't demand answers when Dean inexplicably threw up on their second date. A man who went from giant nerd to sexy bossypants in a matter of seconds. A man who found philosophical meaning in the habits of tiny insects. Dean groaned internally as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration at his imminent course of action. Oh God, he thought sourly, I can't believe I'm about to do this.

"Look, Cas," Dean started, adopting a pleading look at the man waiting for him. "I know when we first.. When you... I was…" Dean tried. Cas' gaze changed instantly from carnivorous predator to concerned friend. Dean blinked at the effortless switch.

"More than willing to let me bend you over the couch on the spot?" Cas supplied, eyes twinkling, when Dean didn't complete his sentence. Dean exhaled and the tension in his shoulders decreased slightly. Though his treacherous dick perked up at the image.

"Well, yeah." Dean said lamely.

"I do not consider past consent to have any influence on any future sexual encounters we may or may not have," Cas informed him in a calm voice. Tone softer, he added, "Dean. Just because you said yes once, while deeply under the effects of intoxication in this particular case, might I add, does not give me or anyone permission to guilt you into having sex with them. Besides, I prefer my partners to be explicitly willing and, hopefully, enthusiastic about the potential exchange." Dean looked at Cas doubtfully. Castiel sighed.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do tonight, okay?" Castiel approached him then, and took Dean's face into his hands, looking into his eyes with that unwavering stare. Dean licked his lips nervously, nodding. When Cas continued to survey him sternly, Dean cleared his throat.

"Okay. Yeah," he croaked, and Castiel beamed. Dean's mouth acted on muscle memory alone and broke into a weak smile too.

"I think a good start would be to get upstairs. Would you perhaps like to watch a movie perhaps? My brother Gabe and I share a subscription to a film service. I believe it is called the Netflix? He set it up on the small television I have in my bedroom," Castiel suggested, and Dean couldn't hold back a short huff of laughter at that.

"Are you basically asking me to Netflix and chill?" Dean asked incredulously, but Castiel only frowned in confusion.

"If by chill, you mean I would like you to relax and view a film with me, then yes. Is this acceptable?" Castiel continued, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"By chill, I definitely don't mean relax," Dean muttered. Louder, he added, "You are such a nerd, Cas." He pulled him up the stairs, already leading the way to Cas' bedroom.

"I don't understand…" Castiel began, but Dean cut him off with a short peck on the lips.

"Forget it. Sure, let's watch a movie, babe." Dean said jokingly, pulling Castiel down to the bed and searching for the remote in the bedside table. Cas had gone stock still at his words, however.

When Castiel remained stiff beside him on the bed, Dean turned his head to look up at him in question. Castiel's eyes were as big as saucers, and if Dean hadn't been confused, he might have laughed at the sight it made. "What's wrong?" he asked finally, neck straining to get a look at Cas' face. But Castiel shook his head, smiling.

"Nothing at all," Castiel mumbled, but his arms came to wrap tight around Dean's middle as Dean stripped his jeans off, already expertly surfing through the channels on the small TV on the bureau. Castiel stretched, taking off his own clothes before closing his arms back around Dean's torso, chin tucked over his neck. Dean settled back into the warmth of Cas' body as he picked a TV show at random. Curling his free hand around to tug at Castiel's hair, he turned his head to catch his lips with his own.

"Goodnight, Cas," he said, and felt the man sigh, arms squeezing him lightly.

"Goodnight, Dean," came Castiel's mumbled reply against Dean's neck.

The addition of Cas into Dean's life was imperceptible in its easiness. It soon became a routine for Dean to stop by the market on his way home from the garage or while he was out for an errand. They would chat, Dean leaning over the counter of Castiel's bright yellow stand, about just about anything. Sometimes Dean would even step behind the counter, helping out with cases at the end of the day. He drew the line at wearing one of Castiel's extra aprons though, despite the "we'll see about that" look the man gave him at his refusal. Castiel didn't come by the garage, and Dean suspected it was because of the still ill-defined nature of their relationship, but he would text or call whenever he got a break, and Dean often had to keep from smiling at the vibration of his phone in his pocket while he was at work. In fact, Bobby had caught him with the device in his hand more than once over the past few weeks since he met Castiel. If Dean hadn't been working on several new restoration projects since the initial corvette a few weeks ago, he probably would have been reprimanded. As it was, however, Dean had started bringing in several clients. Some even came from the next county.

With all the excitement over his budding new business endeavors, Dean found it became quite easy to ignore calls from the hospital once a week, or the ever present closed door of his childhood room. He had taken to sleeping in his father's bed, though slightly disturbed by the imagery of that particular decision, which sat across the hall from the offensive room Dean was actively ignoring.

Besides, that however, it became easy to focus on the good things. Sam was away more, taking on shifts at the coffee shop and already getting in contact with students from Stanford. Dean checked up on him often, texting and calling, but kept his distance. He figured the less Sam knew about Dad's situation and Cas, the better for him. He was leaving in a little over a month anyway, so Dean didn't want Sam's big plans to be dampened by minor things like Dean's petty romance drama or bills.

He should have known staying away from Sam would arouse suspicion from him though, because after three weeks of kissing Cas behind stacks of empty mason jars and shrugging off Bobby's glare at the garage, the charade was finally unmasked.

Dean had just finished telling Cas about the seriously banged up classic camaro that a wealthy client had brought in from Franklin, the county over. He had been babbling, he knew, but by now Cas was used to the way Dean went on about cars so he figured he wouldn't mind. Besides, the man was refilling the lemonade distributor while Anna served clients, and Dean knew for a fact that Cas had on his grumpy pants due to a particularly late night the day before. Dean tried to feel guilty about keeping Cas up, but the memory of Castiel's fingers ruffling Dean's hair when they finally fell asleep in the early hours of morning kept Dean from feeling too bad about Cas' apparently reticence at speaking to customers today. He leaned over the side of the counter further, poking Cas in the ribs. The man chased his hand, growling.

"Were you listening?" Dean asked petulantly, even though he knew Castiel had probably only understood about half of what he had been blathering on about.

"Dean," Castiel admonished, avoiding the question and letting go of the complicated machine to put his hands on his hips. "I am attempting to get work done and you are being very distracting." Dean grinned, but Castiel's frown didn't let up. His smile faltered.

"Hey," Dean said, finally pausing in his childish attempts at bothering Cas. Dean had been too caught up in his story to notice Cas' eyes were shadowed by deeper bags than usual. Maybe he had kept the man up too late the night before. Feeling appropriately foolish now, Dean traced a finger down the side of Castiel's arm. The man sighed, closing his eyes. "What's wrong, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head, picking up the stubborn latch again, fiddling aimlessly.

"Hey, hey," Dean said again, snapping his fingers in front of Castiel's face. "C'mon, Cas. I can tell you're upset, what's going on?" Dean lowered his voice, eyes darting around and then down, embarrassed. "Did I keep you up too late last night?" he asked quietly, and was startled into attention at Castiel's frustrated huff.

"My whole life does not revolve around you, Dean," Castiel said sharply, fixing Dean with an annoyed glare. "I have bigger problems than how late you've kept me up or your ridiculous need for constant attention!" Dean's eyes widened at the reprimand, taking a step back and removing his hands from Castiel's space. It felt weird to be around Castiel without touching him. He'd become accustomed to the feel of his neck, his arm, his hip under his fingers whenever the man was in his vicinity. He suspected the empty feeling in his gut had something to do with the harsh words, too.

"Yeah, no," he said, immediately conceding. Of course, Dean though, mentally chastising himself. It's only the...?, he thought, trying to count the times Castiel and he had made plans over the past couple of weeks. He realized with no small horror that he had lost count already, many of the "dates" blurring into entire days spent easily in each other's company. God, how could he have gotten so comfortable so fast? Fuckin' dumbass,he shook his head at his own stupidity. Out loud, he just said, "Sorry, 'course. I'm gonna go, man. Sorry I said anythin', ok? None of my business, I get it."

Dean was already turning away when he heard Castiel's weak, "wait, Dean! I'm sorry I-"

But then Sam had appeared out of nowhere, effectively throwing both Dean and Castiel out of balance.

"Dean!" his brother had called from a distance. Approaching, he clapped his hand on Dean's back, oblivious to the tension in Dean's shoulders as he tried not to give away the mess of emotions he felt clenching in his chest.

"So this is where you've been hiding out these past few weeks," Sam said, laughing through his words. Dean smiled thinly back. "Got yourself a taste for some of that sweet lemonade, huh?" Sam added, voice lowered and hand squeezing Dean's neck. He laughed at his own joke, turning them both to the stand where Castiel was still staring at Dean, hand half raised in objection from their earlier conversation.

"What's up, Cas?" Sam said, flashing his big smile. Castiel frowned, and Dean shook his head imperceptibly. Castiel sighed, rubbing his hand against his head for a second before smiling at Sam. Dean winced at the cheap replica of the way Cas usually grinned for him.

"Not much, Sam. Bit of a long day," Castiel said, and his eyes drifted to Dean. Dean could only look at him briefly, frustration and embarrassment burning too bright, before looking away pointedly. He thought he saw a glimmer of apology in the blue gaze, but he blinked up at the bright sky instead, figuring he had imagined it.

"That sucks," Sam said. He leaned over, finally, thankfully sweeping his hand out from around Dean's shoulders, and looked solemnly at the man behind the counter. "You wanna talk about it, Cas?" Sam asked sincerely, and Dean found himself absurdly envying his brother. Dean should have been the one to ask that. But instead he had just walked away at the first sign of any kind of disagreement. God, he was such a fuck up, he wasn't even capable of being a good friend, let alone a good boyf... Dean cut his thoughts off before the word could form and destroy the last vestiges of control he held over the rising panic in his chest.

Meanwhile, the conversation between his brother and Cas had rambled on, neither one aware of Dean's treacherous thoughts.

"No, thank you Sam, but I'm afraid this matter is quite personal," Castiel replied, ducking his head in gratitude.

"What's going on, Cas?" Dean blurted, and was rewarded with a pointed look from Sam.

"It's okay, Cas, you don't have to tell us," Sam said to Castiel, bringing a hand up and awkwardly resting it on Castiel's shoulder. Cas eyed the contact blankly until Sam cleared his throat, bringing his hand back up to his jaw. "Uh, but I hope you know we're here if you wanna talk, alright? I mean, you showed me the wonders of kale chips, man. You and I are basically bonded for life!" Sam winked at Cas then, and Dean began to feel decidedly superfluous.

"Thank you, Sam," Cas said, and the frown that had been creasing his eyebrows together finally abated somewhat. Dean clenched his jaw.

"We should let you get back to work," Sam said, shrugging his shoulders and tilting his head in greeting. "I gotta talk to my brother for a second anyway. Haven't seen the guy in about three weeks!" Sam smirked at Castiel. Castiel smiled back at Sam for a second, then looked to Dean. But Dean looked determinedly at the counter between them instead of meeting Cas' gaze and followed Sam as he turned around towards the picnic tables.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Sam punched Dean in the shoulder, hard.

"What the hell was all that, about, Dean?" he asked, voice kept low for fear of being overheard. They were still well within view of the little yellow stand.

"What, you mean besides you and Cas flirting back there?" Dean snarled without thinking, rubbing his shoulder. To his surprise, Sam stopped and let out a loud snort.

"Dean," he said, humor tinging his voice still, "I'm not flirting with your boyfriend."

Dean's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open of its own accord as he tried to piece together whether or not Sam was being serious. Not wanting to give anything away, he schooled his features into something resembling nonchalance as quickly as he could.

"What? Sammy, 'the hell are you even… What? Cas isn't," Dean said, waving his hands in front of him and shaking his head, frowning. "He's not my… We're friends, Sam. God."

Sammy just fixed him with a skeptical look. Dean willed his cheeks to stop burning. He felt like his heart was pounding loud enough to be heard back at the stand.

"Dean," Sam said, bringing a hand up to Dean's shoulder. The corners of his little brother's mouth twitched, but he seemed to be serious when he continued. "You didn't think I'd noticed that you haven't been around for the past three weeks?"

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam cut him off.

"Listen, okay, I got a little worried. Thought maybe you got back into the whole bar scene. So I called Bobby," Sam said, having the decency to look at least a little ashamed. Dean glared up at him, jaw clenched. "But he said you'd been showing up to work and everything. He even said you'd been less of a dick…" Sam chuckled a little. "I believe Bobby's exact terms were, 'boy won't let go of that damn phone of his, smilin' like a clown every time the thing beeps… Idjit.'"

Dean crossed his arms, unwilling to admit to anything. Especially not when Sam smiled even wider at his annoyance.

"I figured you had met someone," Sam said, and Dean opened his mouth again to deny, deny, deny, but Sam was having none of it. "And seeing you lean over that counter back there and talk to Cas… well I sort of figured it out."

Dean wasn't sure what to say. On the one hand, he felt a large amount of intense relief that Sam had finally figured out his secret. He was a huge part of Dean's life, and even though he had felt a responsibility to keeping him safe and out of Dean's problems, he missed sharing stuff with his brother more than anything. On the other hand, however, Sam hadn't expressly said he was okay with Dean dating a guy. He hadn't seemed upset, but John hadn't yelled and screamed when he had found out either, so Dean didn't uncross his arms. Plus there was the matter of how he had somehow completely fucked up with Cas. His mouth twisted at the thought, but he pushed it away. One crisis at a time, here.

"Alright," Dean said gruffly, still leaning away from Sam. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dean, I don't care," he said, smiling still. Dean eyed him warily. "Seriously, man. I kinda figured anyway."

Dean felt shame and anger bubble up again full force, at the implication.

"What do you mean, you "kinda figured"? What, like I look like I can take a dick or somethin'?" Dean asked a little loudly, chest puffing out in self-righteous anger.

"What? Dean, no, gross," Sam said, holding up his hands in surrender, eyes wide with concern and disgust twisting his lips at Dean's crude language. Dean deflated a little at the quick denial, but remained glaring up at his little brother. "There are so many things wrong with that question, first of all, but no of course not, Dean. Nobody looks like their sexual orientation, Dean. God, are you even from this century?" Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes again. "You used to have a poster of Han Solo taped up beside a pin up model on a classic car in your room. You once told me that 'what makes Dr. Sexy so sexy is his cowboy boots, Sam!' As if it was obvious." Sam adopted a rough imitation of Dean's voice on the last words. "Come on, Dean. It wasn't rocket science."

Dean's shoulders slumped.

"Well, you coulda told me or somethin'," Dean said petulantly, sitting down on the picnic table nearest them.

"What would I have said? 'Hey, big brother, just so you know, I think you might be bisexual cos I saw you check out that guy's ass yesterday and no one likes Han Solo that much'." Dean's eyes widened in horror. "Yeah. You're not super subtle. Deputy Linus?"

Dean blushed at the memory of the fresh faced kid in uniform. He vaguely remembered smiling shyly up at him when his dad had had another run in with the law. He didn't think anyone had picked up on it though. He scowled at Sam.

"Whatever, okay," Dean said gruffly, ignoring the smug smirk on Sam's face. "What are you doing here anyway?" Dean asked, changing the subject. Sam grinned.

"I figured you and I were in desperate need of some hangout time!" he said brightly, and Dean eyed him suspiciously.

"Your stupid car broke down, didn't it?" Dean said, and Sam's smile turned guilty.

"It's making this weird clunking noise, Dean…" Sam said, voice pleading. Dean sighed. "I got a pack of beer and a pizza with your name on it!" Sam added, and Dean brightened a little at the prospect.

Sam got up, leading the way to the parking lot.

"Come on," he said, walking fast with those long legs. "Let's both go to dad's place and you can tell me all about what the hell just happened between you and your boyfriend back there!"

Sam climbed into his car, starting the engine.

"He's not my…" Dean started, but Sam was already driving away. "Boyfriend." Dean finished, sitting in front of the steering wheel. _Anymore, anyway_... he thought bitterly, and turned his car engine on in turn.

Castiel woke up to the sound of the mattress squeaking as it dipped with Dean's weight.

"'Mornin'," came Dean's gruff voice as his lips brushed Castiel's jaw. He could tell by the brush of Dean's cheek that he had already gotten up and shaved. He tried to be angry at the ridiculous hour the man had woken him up at - it was barely light out - but the thought of Dean getting ready in his bathroom, sharing his bed… Castiel just hummed at the man leaving his bed.

It only took three more seconds for it to register that Dean was leaving. Despite their very late night the night before, Castiel sprung up from the bed when reminded. He was certain the sight of him, bedheaded and bare chested, did not inspire much intimidation, but Castiel attempted to inject commandment in his voice anyway.

"Dean!" he exclaimed, but it came out sleep rough so he had to try again. "Dean."

The man had been stealthily exiting the room when he reluctantly turned around, face pulled into a wincing grimace.

"Sorry man," he said, bringing his hand up behind his neck. No matter how many times Castiel insisted on it, Dean still seemed to have a hard time with the concept of "wake me up before you leave". "I didn't mean to wake you up…"

"That's funny because I thought I told you to wake me up before you leave. Always. It's a standing invitation, Dean." Castiel beckoned to him, hoping his state of undress and undoubtedly ridiculous hair did nothing to undermine his authority. Dean rolled his eyes and came back to the bed, finally resting a jean-clad knee on the bedding.

"Yeah, but we were up pretty late last night…." Dean countered, hand running through his own hair before coming to rest on Cas' thigh. Castiel settled a little onto his ankles, pacified.

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "But you're worth it." He winked.

Castiel could have said it didn't matter or he didn't mind. He could have even said that it was worth it. But none of those answers would produce the pink tinge of Dean's cheeks or contribute to cementing the truth into his skull. Dean was certainly worth every minute of lost sleep. Castiel was starting to learn that the man often needed reminding.

Dean made a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat, but he squeezed Castiel's thigh.

"Well, you oughta be thankin' me then," Dean said, slapping Castiel's leg for emphasis. "I'm like your own personal alarm clock. And for free!" Dean brought his hand up to his heart, solemn. "You're welcome."

"I am truly blessed," Castiel replied. Perhaps it rang a little too true, however, because Dean ducked his head again.

"God's gift, that's me," Dean mumbled, and the sarcasm was too evident to ignore. Before Castiel could protest any further, however, Dean clapped his hands on his own thighs.

"Alright, Cas. I wasn't sure if you'd be gettin' up or not," Dean started, steadily ignoring Castiel's eyeroll. "So I filled the kettle but I didn't put it on. I took the honey out though, and I know you like your jam room temp so that's on the counter too. You're almost out, by the way… I think that's it." Dean started to get up from the bed, then stopped.

"Oh! And I rinsed the sink out after I shaved, unlike some people…" Dean added, shaking his head. He started to say something else, but Castiel grabbed the shirt he wore, emblazoned with "Dean" on the left breast pocket, and hauled him over so Dean lied over him.

"That's better," Castiel said, staring up at Dean and smiling. Dean chuckled.

"Hmm," Dean agreed, leaning in a little. He moved his arms so that they brackets Castiel's face. "You know, if you're gonna be making me late, you really should start paying me for this wake up service…" Dean said, moving even closer. Castiel's heart sped up.

"Oh really?" Castiel asked. His voice cracked a little, but Castiel didn't care. Dean licked his lips. Three weeks, and this man still held the ability to reduce Castiel to a nervous mess.

"Maybe we should set up a payment plan after all," Dean said, smiling widely at his cheesy set up.

"That sounds fair…" Castiel murmured, unable to stop himself from turning his head and punctuating his sentence with a kiss to Dean's jaw. Dean hummed.

"But I don't have any money," Castiel said, mouth centimeters away from Dean's ear.

"I'm sure we can work something out," Dean growled, finally wrapping his arms around Castiel, comforter and all, and burying his face into Cas' neck.

After a few more minutes of kissing, (there may or may not have been some whimpering on Castiel's part) Dean was pulling away, albeit reluctantly.

"I'm gonna be so late, Cas," he said, doing up the button that had mysteriously come loose on his jeans. He glared at Cas, who shrugged.

"I should hope this teaches you a lesson," Castiel responded, adopting a smug expression. Dean raised an eyebrow as he checked his pockets for keys.

"Maybe," Castiel held them out in his hand, "if you had woken me up more than thirty seconds before you had to leave," Dean grabbed the keys, kissing Cas' cheek, "We wouldn't be in this situation, Dean."

The bottom half of his body was still wrapped in bedding. He probably highly resembled a disgruntled mermaid, but he knew he had no hope of using siren magic to entice Dean to stay home from work. He had told Castiel he had an exciting meeting with a new client today about an old camaro. Besides, Castiel had to work at the stand at ten. Still, he pouted when Dean shrugged apologetically.

"I know, babe, I'm sorry," Dean said, leaning in to kiss Cas again, this time on the mouth. "I gotta go, I'll make it up to you tonight."

Castiel's mouth still hung open from the casual term of endearment when Dean stopped, startled, at the doorway. Castiel had hardly processed the four letter slip before Dean was turning around, blurting apologies.

"I mean, if you want. I can come over. If you want, tonight," Dean was babbling, and Castiel frowned.

"Dean, if you're not at my stand at five thirty tonight as usual, I will see to it that you are appropriately punished," Castiel said, as if the choice was obvious. It was, at least, to him. "Now go! You'll be late."

Dean ran back to the bed for a moment, grabbed Castiel by the head, and planted a wet kiss on his mouth before rushing out the door. Castiel shook his head as Dean finally left the room with a shouted, "bye, Cas!" and a grin.

Castiel knew he had several hours before Anna expected him at the stand, but he felt wide awake despite the early hour. He suspected it had a lot to do with the smile he had been unable to tamper ever since Dean had left. The house seemed so large and empty without Dean, but small things marked his presence, and that was enough to keep Castiel biting his lip to repress smiles all morning.

For instance, in the bathroom, Castiel noticed a post-it note stuck to the mirror when he brushed his teeth.

"Ass :)," it read, with an arrow pointing down to the clean sink. Castiel took it off the mirror, meaning to crumple it into the trash, but instead found himself carrying it back to his room and placing it on his dresser. He could throw it out later.

Then there were less obvious things. Dean was not particularly messy, but evidence of his presence could be seen all over the house, from the extra toothbrush in the bathroom to the half eaten bag of potato chips stashed behind the toast in the kitchen. It made Castiel feel warm when he noticed, and even warmer when it seemed so natural that he didn't notice.

Or when Castiel came back into his room, he saw that Dean's charger was left on "his" bedside table, and that Dean had plugged in Castiel's phone since he himself often forgot. Dean had also left a pair of shoes that he did not wear to the garage in Castiel's room, paired and nearly hidden in the corner. When Castiel climbed back into the bed, the smell of Dean's cologne lingered and Castiel tried not to burrow too far in the covers out of pure self indulgence.

After a moment, Castiel decided to check his messages. Maybe Dean had sent him a text already. He chuckled to himself. It had barely been fifteen minutes and Castiel already missed Dean's warm body. Even though they hadn't gone any further than some pretty intense make out sessions, he simply could not get enough of the man. His fingers itched to draw or describe him, his mind flicking to the notebook under his bed. It seemed a long time since his first few classes in university in which the professors praised him on his easy grasp of literature and prose. Though he loved his job, the people, his simple life here in Lawrence, he had, once upon a time, written some works of his own. Nothing of note, of course, but in the weeks since Dean had become a semi-permanent fixture in his life, Castiel found himself moving his old sketchbooks out of dusty storage boxes and into his bedroom.

Just thinking about the way Dean had looked up at him last night, his golden hair mussed, mouth parted and head cocked in confusion as Castiel loomed over him… The man was a work of art - all the time, but especially when his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were wide, staring up at Castiel from the white of his pillows. Castiel trailed his fingers over his own mouth absentmindedly, remembering the feel of Dean's teeth and tongue, the salted taste of sweat on his skin…

Castiel shook himself out of the fantasy.

He discovered early on that indulging in thoughts about Dean could lead to substantial hours lost lingering in bed, aroused and frustrated. So, sighing, Castiel finally reached for his phone.

Twenty two missed calls flashed up at him. Decidedly more awake, Castiel hurriedly swiped the screen to unlock it. Four missed calls from an unknown number, and the rest seemed to be from his brother Gabriel at various times the night before. Castiel opened the single unread text message in his inbox. It was from Gabriel, a little over an hour ago.

call me, it's about dad

Castiel's stomach plummeted to the ground at the short message. He didn't bother checking his voicemails, but pressed on Gabriel's name instead, heart racing in his chest. He didn't even get a greeting.

"I'm on my way now."

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but Gabriel cut him off.

"It's bad, Cassie," he said. His brother's voice was the quietest Castiel had ever heard it.

It took Castiel a moment to realize Gabriel had hung up without another word. He stared at his phone for a little bit, shell shocked. His dad... Castiel barely knew him... But his mind raced to the the worst possibilities. Had he come back? Was he threatening to? Or was it something worse? Castiel was left wondering, heart still pounding away, palms clammy, surrounded by comforters still smelling of Dean, Dean, Dean. His phone pinged and he numbly checked the message.

i cant believe im writing this right now but i miss u, u little shit

Glancing up at the ceiling, unable to think, Castiel shut off his phone wrapped himself in Dean's words and smell, resigning himself to wait.

Gabriel arrived in less than twenty minutes. Castiel was still in bed, flipping through old stories scribbled in his notebook under the covers. Gabriel hadn't knocked, but instead barged into the bedroom uninvited. Castiel froze, fingers hovering over the written words tinged blue from the light seeping through his comforter.

"Still hiding under the covers, eh little brother?" Gabrial asked, and Castiel closed his book, emerging from his cocoon.

"Just tell me," he said, mouth set into a practiced hard line. Gabriel's smile faltered.

"Right into it, eh? No prep and dry. I hope you're gentler with that boy toy of yours you're trying to keep a secret, 'cause-"

"Gabriel, please. I am in no mood for your idiotic jokes. What is going on?" Castiel cut him off, temper getting the best of him despite knowing that the best response to Gabriel's insensitivity was indifference. He vowed internally to try for indifferent once he was able to feel anything but nauseated.

"Alright, alright," Gabriel said, mouth twisting sourly. "Listen kid, looks like old Daddy finally kicked… kicked it."

Castiel's mind went blank.

"Our father is dead," Castiel said after a moment of staring at his brother. It wasn't quite a question, but Gabriel nodded anyway. He had the decency to look a little sympathetic when he approached the bed, sitting on the edge. He pulled out a lollipop from his jean pocket. It would have been absurd if Castiel didn't know him so well: Gabriel was a lover of all things sweet. It was no wonder he had come equipped to counteract the sour nature of this conversation.

"So those missed calls…" Castiel asked, Gabriel sighed.

"Mummy dearest," Gabriel replied. Castiel's eyes flashed. "Hey! She was looking for you, okay? I tried to hold off on divulging personal info, but you know how she is, like a b-"

"That's quite enough, Gabriel," Castiel said hastily, but Gabriel kept talking anyway.

"With a bone!" he finished, smiling a little at his own joke. Castiel held on to the anger at being rediscovered by Naomi.

"Maybe if you weren't so conspicuous with the way you lived…" Castiel muttered angrily, and for the first time, Gabriel's smirk disappeared from his face entirely to be replaced by sharp annoyance and no small amount of weariness.

"You think Mumsy wouldn't have found me, in the darkest of forests, to the ends of the earth?" he asked, eyes dangerous. Castiel frowned, crossing his arms.

"You could've chosen another job. Alcohol and pornography, Gabriel, really? Did you really have to anger her so blatantly?" he asked, voice rising. Gabriel's eyebrows shot up.

"God, you're right Cassie. I should've found myself a big brother and played it safe. Maybe I should have spent my newfound freedom running a lemonade stand and tending to bees, instead of pursuing any dreams of my own, maybe then dear old Mom would have come around!" Gabriel retorted, tone accusing. Castiel huffed.

"So now running a web-based pornography website from your basement and dragging Anna into your dive bar endeavours somehow qualifies as a valid life purpose?" Castiel growled.

"At least I'm doing what I fucking want, Castiel!" Gabriel shouted at him then, bringing his hands to Castiel's shoulders. "You think I don't know about your stupid notebooks? You think I forgot that the only time I've seen the coldhearted bitch shed a tear was the day you showed her those pages you doodled on? You told me you wanted to be a writer, Castiel. What are you doing?" Gabriel's nose was inches from his, and Castiel could do no more than stare, eyes wide. "What are you doing with the fucking freedom you gave it all up for? Zip. Nada. NOTHING! So what the hell do you know about me and my dreams, huh? You never even left. None of us did." Gabriel leaned back a little, voice quieter. "As good old Daddy used to say, 'Once a Novak, always a Novak.' Cassie."

Gabriel got up then, leaving the room, and Castiel sat dumbfounded in bed. He was right. This house, this life… It wasn't freedom, not really. He was living a lie and he knew it. Every day he saw the balance on his bank account, every day he attempted to live as simply as possible without the aid of his family's fortune, it was just another day he was lying to himself and others. Maybe Gabriel had been stupid to stay in contact with Naomi, or maybe he had made it too easy for them to be found, but at least he had tried his best to be what he wanted to be. And what had Castiel accomplished, really? It had been so easy for his past to come back and find him, no matter how removed and comfortable Castiel had felt in his new life. How could he have become so complacent? And even the way he had left… so carefully planned and such a contrast to the way he remembered Gabriel's shouting match in the living room - the broken china and his mother's cold silence. But all of this was besides the point because it boiled down to the last words Gabriel had said.

Once a Novak, always a Novak.

Castiel's head pounded at the now sinister words. At the time of their utterance, Castiel had only been a young child. His father had chuckled at the latest drawin his son had showed him, and told him the phrase proudly. Castiel had always been kind of the favourite. His father worked long hours for the family company as a commercial lending director, but the man's disposition never quite fit the job. He was intimidating, harsh even at times, but Castiel had always felt that his dad was more than the face of Novak Unlimited. He would always sit and read with Castiel and his younger brother before bed. And when Castiel showed him drawings or stories, he would praise him regardless of their quality or subject matter.

As an adult, the words had a darker meaning. With the evidence of how fast Naomi had found them both in mind, Castiel had to agree with it. Once a Novak, always a Novak.

When his father left when Castiel was six years old, Castiel didn't understand. Apparently, he "couldn't do it anymore". Apparently, he "was just done trying". Six year old Castiel hadn't understood at the time, and his family rarely spoke of the event later on. However, as an adult, and through snippets of conversations and strained answers to his curious questions, Castiel had figured out the truth.

His father had chosen a life of writing on the road. He had left his family and gone out to experience what he hadn't experienced with them. He had left a wife with her five children without a father.

So was Castiel supposed to be relieved that he finally knew where his father was? Was he supposed to be sad? All he knew of his father were the quiet nights the large man had tucked him and his brother Samandriel in. Should he miss something he never truly had? Or perhaps Castiel was supposed to be angry, as Gabriel clearly was. Perhaps he should scream and yell and pitch a fit over unrelated subjects.

Castiel sighed, head pounding, until a knock on his door made him look up from his lap.

Gabriel's face appeared in the doorway, lips pursed in contrition.

"So that was fun," he said sarcastically. Castiel's expression remained blank.

"I was being a bag of dicks," Gabriel added, crossing the room and sitting on the bed again. "You're not dad. You're not me. You're you."

"Thank you, Gabriel, I hadn't noticed," Castiel replied drily, but his mouth twitched slightly.

"What I'm saying, you asshole, is that you were different. You knew Dad more than the rest of us, you were most like him. All of us were fucked up by Naomi but you… Hell, I don't know Cassie. Sometimes I wonder if there was some kinda mistake and Anna was the one who was a Novak and you were always just Castiel. Some random kid we took in who had nothing to do with all this bullshit," Gabriel said, ignoring the glare Castiel sent his way at what was either a great compliment or terrible insult. Gabriel smiled.

"Anyway. Enough about old pops. What do you say you and I go out and get a drink!" Gabriel said loudly, smirk firmly back in place. Castiel rolled his eyes.

"I've got to go see Anna at the stand…" Castiel said absently, checking the time. Gabriel scoffed.

"You can't work on a day like today!" he protested, but Castiel was already shooing him out of the room.

"Actually, I'm sure Anna could use the company. Especially on a day like today," Castiel said solemnly. Gabriel sighed.

"Anna didn't know him," he said, but his slumped shoulders spoke of defeat.

"There's a bottle of scotch under the sink," Castiel said, and Gabriel's eyebrows shot up. "It was for emergencies," Castiel defended, but Gabriel was already out the door.

"Don't you own a bar?" Castiel called down to the muffled sounds of cupboards opening and closing.

He got dressed, shaking his head, and tried not to think of the next steps involved in his father's death. His father had always been gone. But now… He pushed it out of his mind and rushed down the stairs. Though he doubted Anna would make much of a fuss about it, he still preferred to keep his word and arrive on time.

"Can't risk the patrons getting scared off by little old me," Gabriel winked at Castiel from the living room couch where he had set up a bottle of scotch and small glass.

"I'll be home as soon as I can," Castiel said shortly. He wasn't sure what to make of Gabriel's coping methods, but he didn't have time or energy to dwell on it.

He exited his house, attempting to dispel the foul mood he found himself in, and got in the car.

"This will likely be a difficult day," he said sardonically to himself, turning the engine.

At first, it seemed the best course of action would be to stay busy, so Castiel attempted to serve customers. After Anna caught him snapping at a small child for breaking a mason jar, however, he was exiled to the lemonade dispensers while Anna navigated the crowd. As predicted, his younger foster sister was not greatly affected by the news, though she squeezed Castiel's hand and regarded him with that awful piteous look every time she could. It made Castiel irrationally angry.

And why should he be pitied? He'd never had a father before, so how did losing one now make his situation somehow worse? Not to mention the fact that Anna herself had never had a father. She had always insisted that Castiel, and later Gabriel, were her only true family, and that she was glad for her adoption into the Novak family if only because it meant she had met them. Otherwise, however, Anna spent most of her time trying to undermine Naomi's authority. Castiel often thought Naomi had made a mistake in taking her in for that reason, but he was glad for her presence all the same.

So who was giving Anna those pitying looks? Who would make her feel fragile by throwing concerned looks her way repeatedly throughout the day? Castiel ground his teeth, a small part of him revelling in the distraction of hatred and anger. Those emotions were easier than the nebulous and overwhelming feeling of loss that was lodged somewhere between his lungs.

By the time five thirty rolled around, Castiel had forgotten all about Dean and his earlier commitment.

"Excuse me, sir, but did it hurt?" came Dean's familiar voice. Castiel replayed the words in his head before turning around.

"What?" Castiel asked, head tilting in confusion. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Dean looked beautiful, despite his nonsensical question, and that appeased the slight annoyance bubbling in Castiel's gut.

"When you fell from heaven, angel," Dean replied laughing, and leaned in for peck on his lips. Castiel deepened the kiss instinctively until Dean pulled away, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

Oh right, Castiel thought derisively, Dean Winchester was straight.

He grit his teeth while Dean chatted about his day.

Castiel tried. He really did. But the words Dean said just didn't register in his brain. He could not stop mulling over the harsh words of his brother this morning, the reasons for his Dad's departure so long ago, and the realities of his life. Was this really what Castiel wanted? A job working at a lemonade stand with a not-quite boyfriend and a house he didn't really own? How had he left himself settle?

Dean leaned against the counter as he spoke, sleeves rolled up and fingernails dirty from the garage. The man was the embodiment of sunshine and small town summer. His skin was tanned and his shirt was nearly soaked with sweat. Suddenly, Castiel wanted nothing more than to shut him up. He could push Dean up against the hood of his ridiculous, large black car and show him how straight he really was. He'd feel the hot press of Dean's arousal and he'd know at least one purpose in life he could spend forever fulfilling, one job he knew he could do without feeling inadequate.

Dean asked him a question.

"Dean," Castiel admonished, and he felt real anger behind his words. "I am attempting to get work done and you are being very distracting.

Dean grinned back at him. Castiel huffed, feeling irrationally frustrated with the man.

The light in Dean's eyes was suddenly replaced with a small shadow, his expression growing cautious almost immediately.

"Hey," he said, softer, pausing in his previous attempts to bother Castiel. "What's wrong?"

What isn't? Castiel thought, but refused to answer. Dean snapped his fingers in front of his face, reiterating.

"Did I… Did I keep you up too late last night?" he asked quietly, and Castiel saw the man was blushing, gaze trained to the floor. Castiel sighed loudly, exasperated.

Was Castiel meant to tread lightly in hopes of not offending anyone else today?

"My whole life does not revolved around you, Dean," Castiel snapped without thinking. Immediately guilt flooded his chest, but his mouth did not stop. "I have bigger problems than how late you've kept me up or your ridiculous need for constant attention!"

Instantly Dean's expression hardened into acceptance. He mumbled an apology, turning away. Self hatred and regret rose like bile in Castiel's throat.

"Dean, wait, I-" he started, but froze when he saw Dean's brother approaching. The taller man grasped Dean around his shoulders and spun him around to face Castiel again. The confident, laughing man had disappeared, and in his place stood a slouching, lip-biting Dean. He was almost unrecognizable and Castiel hated that he had been the one to cause such a change in the man.

"What's up, Cas?" asked the younger Winchester brightly, and Castiel tried to school his features into something other than pain and guilt.

"Not much, Sam. Bit of a long day," Cas said plainly.

"That sucks," he replied. Then, leaning in, he caught Castiel's gaze. "You wanna talk about it, Cas?" Sam asked sincerely, and Castiel's mild annoyance disappeared almost entirely. The man had clearly taken after his older brother's concern for other people, though Sam had clearly better mastered the verbal aspects of his caregiving.

"No, thank you Sam, but I'm afraid this matter is quite personal," Castiel replied, ducking his head in gratitude.

"What's going on, Cas?" Dean blurted, and Castiel's eyes snapped to him. Dean blushed and ducked his head immediately. Castiel could only hope his silent plea for forgiveness had somehow made itself known in his gaze.

"It's okay, Cas, you don't have to tell us," Sam said to Castiel quickly, bringing a hand up and awkwardly resting it on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel frowned at the physical touch. It felt nothing like his brothers, whose once careful touches had soon turned to treasured affection Castiel felt he had earned. Sam removed his hand, awkward. "Uh, but I hope you know we're here if you wanna talk, alright? I mean, you showed me the wonders of kale chips, man. You and I are basically bonded for life!" Sam winked at Cas then, but Castiel hardly noticed, eyes glued to Dean, whose gaze never left the ground.

"Thank you, Sam," Cas said, and he tried to mean it. The man meant well, despite his terrible timing. If only Dean would look up.

"We should let you get back to work," Sam said, shrugging his shoulders and tilting his head in greeting. "I gotta talk to my brother for a second anyway. Haven't seen the guy in about three weeks!" Sam smirked at Castiel.

Castiel smiled back at Sam for a second, then looked again to Dean. But Dean looked determinedly at the counter between them instead of meeting Cas' gaze and followed Sam as he turned around towards the picnic tables.

And then they were both gone. And Castiel was left with a hollow feeling in his gut.

After a moment, Anna came around the corner to see him. Before she could ask if he was "okay" for the millionth time that day, Castiel held up a hand.

"I'm not okay," he said, and when Anna made to ask more questions, he continued swiftly. "Close up, will you, if you don't want to stay? I think I am done for today."

And with that Castiel hopped the counter, untying his apron, and left a gaping Anna behind. Retrieving his phone, he dialled Gabriel's number.

"Where're we going, little bro?" Gabriel slurred as a greeting.

"The nearest liquor store," Castiel replied firmly, getting into his car.

"Oh yeah? And what's good little Castiel gonna do in a liquor store?" Gabriel taunted, clearly already tipsy. Castiel peeled out of the parking lot.

"I intend to drink it," he replied, and ended the call.

"I don't know man," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. "He's just… Do you really have to make me do this right now?"

He had been working on the car for maybe ten minutes, his beer sweating on the edge of the hood and his shirt barely off before Sam had brought Cas up. The smell of oil was calming, but not enough to chase the fluttering in his heart completely. Sam didn't answer, but he eyed Dean with an unamused look. Dean sighed.

"Cas is just… different, you know? When he looks at me, I… He thinks whatever I do or say is fucking groundbreaking and I'm a goddamn mechanic. He's like been to medical school and was filthy rich, but he gave it all up and…" Dean stopped himself when he caught Sam's fond look. He scowled, purposely changing his expression to a leer. "He's fucking hot. Whenever I get my hands on that tight little ass it's like..."

Sam shoved him, grumbling, but his smile stayed in place.

"So, you like him," Sam said finally, and Dean shrugged noncommittally. Sam sighed. "But now you fucked it up somehow."

Dean scowled again.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, screwing on a cap under the hood. He noticed the windshield wiper fluid was low and began to refill it while Sam stood nearby, fidgeting.

"Okay, well, if you really don't want to talk about it I'm not gonna make you, Dean. But we both know you want to," Sam said, hands on his hips. Dean hesitated.

"I like him," he grunted, avoiding Sam's gaze. "But I know something's going on and he won't tell me. He just lashed out."

Sam's face turned pitying and Dean rolled his eyes when he noticed.

"Okay, princess, I don't need your pity, alright? I don't deserve a guy like Cas anyway, it was bound to end eventually," Dean said halfheartedly. Sam raised his eyebrows.

"You don't believe that," Sam replied, actually looking surprised. "You don't believe that!"

Dean looked up in confusion at Sam's enthusiastic tone.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you so wrapped in someone. Dean. You have to go see him," Sam said, getting up suddenly.

"I'm not going to see him, Sammy," Dean replied firmly, puttering around beneath the hood. Nothing seemed to be amiss besides the low fluid, but he expected that. A "clunking" noise, as his brother so eloquently put it, was often a suspension, steering, or wheel problem. Suspension and steering might be difficult to fix tonight, but he could at least check out the wheels before making any plans to bring in Sam's car to Bobby's. He closed the hood gently as he considered his next move, ignoring Sam's crossed arms and frown.

"Dean, you can't just ignore problems and hope they go away," Sam said, lips puckered into a sour expression. Dean rolled his eyes, pulling a jack from his toolbox and setting it up under the car.

"Will you shut the fuck up for a second and give me a hand?" he asked, groaning as he got to his knees beside the front wheel of the Challenger. Sam sighed and crouched down, steadying the jack as Dean cranked it.

"I'm just saying, Dean. It's been three weeks and you haven't even touched your room. And I know the hospital has been calling for God knows what…" Sam said quietly. Dean's hand slipped on the handle, and it came loose from its setting and clanged onto the pavement. He picked it up quickly.

"You don't think I know? I know, okay. I'm takin' care of it, alright? I don't need you tellin' me what to do, Sammy. You're taller'n a sasquatch, but I'm still your older brother," Dean said through clenched teeth. He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders before beginning to turn the crank again. "Cas is just…" Dean sighed. "It was good, you know? And I didn't wanna fuck it up, but now I did somehow. And I don't know what to do, man."

His voice was quiet, he knew, and this was bordering onto feelings territory that made Dean's stomach turn and his palms sweat. He stole a glance at Sam, expecting a smug smile or a pitying look, but Sam had his brow furrowed as if Dean had asked him to solve a very difficult puzzle instead of the silly love mess he had semi-confessed to. Dean finished jacking up the car and set to checking the ball joints on the front tyre, seeing as Sam had mentioned the sound was coming from that side; in the meantime, Sam stood, arms still crossed and expression pensive.

"I think you should go see him," Sam said after a moment of contemplation. Dean turned incredulously to him, expecting a laugh or sarcastic lilt to his voice, but Sam was completely serious. Dean huffed derisively.

"Yeah, okay, thanks Dr. Love," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"I'm serious, Dean," Sam said, crouching back down to his level and putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You were right, I said it without thinking before, but this is a big deal for you and I think Castiel needs you to come to him. I don't think he would push you away for no reason, Castiel's a nice guy. I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for all this. You should talk to him. Tonight."

"Maybe," Dean shrugged, biting his lip as he felt the space between the ball joint and the point of contact that linked the suspension to the wheel base. "Aha!" he exclaimed, smiling for the first time that evening. "Look, Sammy, you got some space here in the ball joints where it's all worn down!"

He moved over so that Sam could see the clearly overused joint. Sam made an effort to watch, but his blank expression gave him away.

"That's… bad?" he said uncertainly. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, little bro, that's bad. God, Dad'd be rolling in his…" Dean started to say, then caught himself. Sam's eyes widened fractionally, but Dean coughed and ploughed on. "You'd think you'd know a bit more about cars with your brother being a mechanic and all." Sam scoffed.

"That's what I've got you for, Dean! Now, can you fix it?" he answered, and Dean rolled his eyes again.

"Yeah, but you're gonna have to wait 'til I get to Bobby's. He's probably got some spare ball joints I can take, but I'm not workin' until the day after tomorrow…"

Sam sighed.

"Can I still drive it until then?" Sam whined, and Dean shook his head, laughing.

"Sure, Sammy," he said, chuckling a little, "ball joints don't do much. Just keep your steering connected to your suspension so you can control your car. Totally unnecessary amenity, there, Sam."

"Ok, ok, I get it," Sam said, getting up. "I guess I'll ask a coworker for a lift tomorrow…" He trailed off, pulling out his phone as Dean got up from the ground, brushing off his knees.

"Anything else I can do for ya tonight, Sammy?" he asked, crouching back down to crank down a jack.

"Yes," Sam said, and Dean looked up at him expectantly. "Go. See. Cas. I can handle the cleanup, just go!"

Dean bit his lip, still cranking down the jack halfheartedly. Sam grabbed his shirt and yanked up. Dean huffed.

"Alright, alright. No need to get physical, Sammy dearest," Dean said, lifting his hands in surrender. "You sure you gonna be okay without a car tonight?"

"Yes, Dean," Sam said, practically pushing him towards the impala, the four beers from the 6 pack in his hands. "Take these, and stop making up excuses to avoid your boyfriend!"

"He's not my-" Dean started to protest, but Sam shoved him particularly hard. "Fine! Fine, I'm going. God, Sammy."

He paused before turning, surging forward into a hug.

"Thanks," Dean said gruffly, patting Sam on the back and letting go quickly. Sam smiled.

"Thank you, for the free labour, sucker!" Sam said loudly, but his eyes were soft. Dean rolled his eyes and head towards the impala parked on the street.

He checked his phone again. It was nine thirty. If Cas was home, he would be reading in bed or listening some sappy classical music Dean was always telling him to shut off (even though some of the sonatas sounded nice when Cas sat behind him, carding his hands through Dean's hair). Dean got out of the car with a step more confident than he felt. Arriving at the door, he took a deep breath and knocked.

He listened for sounds inside, but, hearing nothing after a few minutes, he knocked again. Maybe he should have called. Romantic gestures always seemed so straight forward in the movies, but Dean's hands were sweating at the prospect of talking to him about feelings and misunderstandings and goddamn apologies. He swallowed, making a deal with himself. If Cas didn't answer this time, Dean was making his way to Gabe's bar. Either Cas would be there, bar tending or drinking off whatever frustration he had of the day, or Dean was having a celebratory drink in honor of his complete fuck up status.

Dean knocked again, louder this time.

"Hello?" he called, feeling quite foolish. The neighbours, if there were any looking, were probably laughing at the weird guy knocking on the door he usually walked through without preamble.

"Fuck it!" Dean muttered to himself, and jogged back to the impala to try and stave off his embarrassment.

A few minutes later, Dean was walking through the doors of Gabe's bar. The joint had been owned by different people back when Dean had haunted it underage. The crowd had changed quite a bit, and though he hadn't noticed it at the time of his fateful encounter with Cas, so had the decor. The stools at the bar were green vinyl, which somehow fit with the old wooden set up of the rest of the establishment. The new owner, well, Gabriel, had clearly mixed in his own tastes with those of whom Dean assumed was once the owner - a big burly trucker by the looks of his former clientele and tastes. But somehow it worked.

It wasn't a particularly busy night, but even if it had been, Dean could have spotted Cas easily. The man was standing on top of a bewildered group's table, microphone poised at his lips, hair a mess and hips swaying. Cas' hair was a mess and his shirt was tucked into the back pocket of his low slung jeans. His eyes were closed as he belted out a terrible version of some rock ballad.

"Ok," Dean said quietly to himself, trying not to get angry. "Not quite what I was expecting…" He slid quietly to the side, where an equally disheveled Gabriel was watching Cas avidly and waving an imaginary lighter back and forth to what appeared to be a very bad version of REO Speedwagon.

"Dean-o!" Gabriel boomed, but thankfully Cas was too busy singing his tonedeaf heart out to notice Dean's presence for the moment. "Wha're you doin' here ol' pal?"

Dean ignored his question, momentarily distracted by Cas' loss of balance on the table, resulting in a fearful moment in which Dean almost stood up to catch him. He righted himself though, without skipping a god awful lyric, and continued to serenade the half empty bar with closed eyes. Dean kept his eye on im for a moment, before turning to Gabriel, glaring.

"Alright, what the hell is going on here?" he asked. When Gabriel only giggled, he turned to the bar, searching for a familiar face that might offer more answers than the intoxicated men in front of him. "You're useless."

Dean got to his feet again, abandoning the table at which Gabriel sat, nursing an amber liquid in a tumblr, to sit at a lime green stool. The burly man from the night he got trashed was there again, so Dean tried to catch his attention.

"Hey!" he called, trying to remember the man's name. "Ben… Benny!" The man turned away from the waitress he was chatting with to look at Dean. Though it hadn't been one of their favourite hang out spots since they started dating, Dean and Cas had patronized the roadhouse a few times over the past few weeks and so Benny recognized Dean when he beckoned him over.

"Heya brother," he boomed, but his smiled faded at Dean's expression. Dean jerked his thumb back to where Cas was finishing out his solo, eyebrows raised. Benny shrugged uncomfortably.

"That ain't my business to tell, friend," Benny said lowly in his southern drawl. Dean huffed impatiently.

"Come on, man, neither of them are makin' any sense and I gotta get 'em home safe tonight so I can get to sleep with some kinda conscience…" Dean lied. He looked up at Benny through his lashes, mentally crossing his fingers.

"I tell you what," Benny acquiesced, sighing. "Gabe told me he was gonna crash in his office tonight, but by the looks of him, he's not even gonna make it there. If you promise you take good care o' your boy out there, I'll take care o' his mess of a brother, and I'll tell you what I know, which ain't much, mind you. But I know they ain't celebratin' tonight. Deal?"

Dean looked back to where Cas was getting booed, quite enthusiastically, by a group of 21 year olds. Train wreck drinking tonight then, he thought. Well, at least I got experience. Dean nodded his assent and Benny leaned in to speak quieter.

"It ain't good, Dean. Gabriel doesn't usually drink here. But I think it's got somethin' to do with their father. S'far as I can tell, he wasn't much of a father, but like I said, brotha," Benny said, clapping a broad hand on Dean's shoulder and leaning back. "'Ain't my story to tell. That's about all I know anyway."

With that, he made his way to where there was an opening in the counter and headed towards Gabriel. It was only a few moments before he was leaning in and whispering something to the man, who loudly refused, only to be subdued not long after at another unheard muttering in his ear. As Benny passed an incredulous Dean, he made a face.

"Years of practice, brother," Benny said to Dean as Gabriel leaned heavily on his shoulder. Seeing as Benny was nearly six foot tall, they made a funny pair as Gabriel barely scraped past five foot eight. "I promised him scotch, too." Benny added in a mutter, as Gabriel thrust a fist into the air.

"Onwards to the scotch!" the smaller man ordered, and Benny just sighed as he led him to the back. Dean turned towards Castiel, who had finished his song and was cajoling a much younger, much less drunk young man into giving him his drink.

"Whoa, there cowboy," Dean said, approaching Cas, who immediately brightened when he recognized Dean.

"Dean!" Cas said, wrapping his arms around him. "Dean." Cas brushed his lips up against Dean's ear. And, okay, but Dean is not a saint.

"Cas, buddy, let's get you home," Dean said, struggling to support the man's weight.

"Buddy? No. Dean. Dean!" Cas was frowning and tugging at Dean's shirt like a child. Dean rolled his eyes but stopped trying to manhandle him with reluctance. Cas eyed him seriously."I liked it when you called me that other thing. Don't call me buddy."

"Alright, Cas. Just come on!" Dean said impatiently, and Cas reluctantly acsquiesced.

"Goodbye friends! Dean's taking me home, don't worry," Cas said to the group of giggling young men who were watching. Dean rolled his eyes, forgetting to feel self conscious about the phrasing Cas used, grabbing the stocky man by the waist and directing him outside.

"Cas," Dean said warningly, when he made to go to the bar instead. Castiel sighed.

"Fine, Dean. Don't be such a baby!" Castiel pouted, but then immediately brightened. "BABY!"

Dean tried to ignore his outburst in favor of shoving him bodily into his car, but Castiel pulled at the collar of his shirt in sudden triumph.

"Baby!" Cas said, and kissed Dean square on the mouth. It was sloppy and tasted mostly of tequila, but Dean let himself enjoy it for a moment. Cas broke off first. "Call me baby again, Dean. I'll do whatever you want."

Cas winked at him lasciviously, and Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Whatever I want, huh?" Dean asked, and Castiel attempted to nod, swaying on his feet beside the impala. Dean leaned in to speak in Cas' ear.

"Cas," he whispered, and he almost felt bad about the way Castiel shivered. "Baby."

Dean felt Castiel's grip on his arm tighten.

"Can you get in the fucking car and tell me what the hell is going on?" Dean finished, opening the passenger door. Dean all but shoved Castiel inside, confused feelings roiling in his gut at the look of surprise and hurt that flashed across Cas' face. It was almost immediately replaced by a pout and a somehow challenging glare.

"Oh, sure," Castiel said loudly. "Like you're gonna boss me around tonight just cos I'm a little drunk!"

Dean ignored the comment clearly meant to rile him up in order to focus on driving. What on earth had gotten into the dorky guy who barely even cursed? Dean knew he wouldn't get anything out of him tonight, but he couldn't help but feel worried and hurt. Why hadn't Castiel come to him? Why had he lashed out instead? Well, besides the obvious fact that Dean didn't really set any rules for their… for this thing they had going on. And probably it had something to do with the fact that Dean had spent an entire fifteen minutes blabbing about classic cars and not even asking Cas how his day had been,

But then again Cas knew what he was getting into. Dean hadn't been hiding anything. Well, besides Alistair. Fuckin' Alistair. But that didn't give Cas the right to just go off on Dean like that did it? Dean didn't know much about relationships, but wasn't there supposed to be some sort of give and take? Anyway, they weren't even together so Dean just needed to take care of his friend and bring him home. Dean clenched the steering wheel and looked over at Cas as he pulled out onto the main road.

The man was glaring at him, lips pursed, from underneath a furrowed brow. The expression would have been more intimidating if his hair wasn't a complete mess, sticking up in every direction. Plus he hadn't ever put his shirt back on, and Dean couldn't help but worry he may have left it at the bar. Cas folded his arms over his chest and huffed, and Dean turned back towards the road, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Cas," he said quietly. But another glance proved his passenger was feigning indifference. "Cas, what's going on, man? Why won't you tell me what's happening? I'm…" Dean took a breath. "I'm worried." He choked a little on the last words, staring straight ahead at the fields and the empty road.

"Well big fucking deal, Dean," Cas spat, hunching his shoulders. "You gonna take me home or what, baby?"

Dean bit his lip and turned onto a smaller side road.

"Where're we even going?" Cas asked, slurring.

Dean didn't bother answering. He just steered the impala down the familiar itinerary that led to his father's house.

Cas fell asleep about three minutes after inquiring after their destination anyway. Despite the sour mood in the car, Dean couldn't help but watch him as he slept. He snored, loudly; in fact he seemed to wake himself up from time to time. Whenever he did, he would furrow his brow in annoyance and bat at his own nose like an overgrown cat. Dean bit his lip again, but this time to keep from laughing. He was supposed to be angry with the idiot, after all. He shook his head. Damn, Dean was so screwed.

A coil of anxiety flared deep in his gut, however, when Dean thought about the way gentle, unassuming Cas had snapped at him, the way his eyes had looked glazed over with the alcohol, and most of all how an unfamiliar bitterness tightened his eyes. Dean swallowed the fear and hurt, resisting the urge to seek comfort in Cas' body by running his fingers through the sleeping man's hair or touching his cheek. Dean tried to think of the night Sam and himself had fought, of how Cas had taken care of him without really even knowing him. Dean could do the same, even if it meant putting his own needs for explanations and apologies aside. After everything Cas had done for him, how patient he had been with Dean; Dean didn't really have any right to demand apologies or feel hurt anyway. How many times had he stormed off in the middle of a petty fight with Cas in the past three weeks? How many times had he gotten piss drunk when shit didn't go as planned in his life? And Cas... Cas just stuck around. Even though Dean wouldn't even get past first fucking base with him. Even though he wouldn't tell Cas why. God, Dean thought. His fists unclenched from the steering wheel and he tried to loosen his shoulders. Cas was dealing with something big. He might need space, or comfort, or he might need for Dean to go out drinking with him every night until whatever this was got settled. But no matter what, Dean was going to make sure he was safe.

They arrived at John's place sooner than Dean expected. He'd apparently driven there without a thought, body working on automatic. Dean somehow coaxed a very pliable Cas into the house, nearly carrying him over his shoulder in a fireman's hold when he leaned too heavily on Dean for support. Dean did not bother asking whether Cas wanted to share a bed. Granted it was their first major fight, but Dean just couldn't bear the thought of staying apart for an entire night. Besides, if this was truly as big an issue as Benny had hinted at, then this might very well be their last night together. Maybe it was selfish, but Dean couldn't bring himself to care in the slightest as he tucked his boyfriend into his bed and slid in next to him. Boyfriend, his mind echoed helpfully. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tremor of anxiety that sent through his body, lying beside a man in his father's bed. He tried not to think about it. As if sensing his tension, Cas cuddled in closer in his sleep, wrapping his arms around Dean's chest and nuzzling his neck. Dean's heart sped up, but he couldn't tell if it was from more worry or relief. He turned his head so that Cas' stubble rubbed against his lips.

"Stay with me," he whispered, and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

Cas snored on.

Castiel felt it the second Dean was awake. His body tensed a little bit under Castiel's arms for a moment, then Dean relaxed, clearly feigning sleep. Castiel would have chuckled or teased, but his mind was otherwise occupied with extreme pain. He frowned, bringing the arm that was wrapped around Dean's waist up to his face, unable to suppress a quiet groan. Dean tensed again. Castiel sighed. Ah, yes, he though, still clutching his head. The alcohol.

Biting his lip, Castiel ran a hand over Dean's bare shoulder. The events of the night before were vague enough for Castiel to know it cannot have gone well. Not to mention the fact that he did not recognize the bed he currently found himself in. Always best to rip off the bandaid. Castiel took a deep breath.

"My father," he said, voice sleep rough. He tried again. "My father died."

He knew Dean was awake despite his closed eyes. He slumped forward, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist again, tension seeping out of him rapidly at the confession. Closing his eyes, he burrowed into Dean's neck. The man only tensed further, so Castiel sighed. Bandaids.

"I probably need to apologize," Castiel said quietly into Dean's neck. Dean shook his head and finally turned to look at Castiel.

"You don't…" he started, then seemed to think better of it. "Cas…" Castiel couldn't bear to look in his eyes. The expression on his face was the awful mix of concern and pity he could barely stand in most people; he knew seeing it on Dean's face would break him.

"Cas," Dean repeated, and Castiel felt fingers come up to trace the side of his face. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Cas, baby."

Castiel huffed a breath.

"I knew you would use that against me if I ever admitted it," he said finally, forcing a weak laugh. Dean didn't so much as chuckle. Castiel cracked an eye open. Dean just watched him warily.

"I want to show you something," Dean said, gaze steady. He worried a lip between his teeth, belaying the solemnity of the implied request. Cas frowned.

"I don't know if I'm up for much today, Dean…" Cas replied uncertainly. Dean's hand shook when he moved it to Cas' own under the covers between them.

"Trust me?" Dean asked, and Castiel couldn't tell if it was rhetorical.

"Of course," Cas replied, though, and he wasn't even surprised that the statement rang true to him.

Dean began unwrapping them from the nest of blankets and warmth. Without letting go of his hand, Dean led Castiel to the hallway. The tremble in his fingers became more pronounced, and Castiel couldn't help the sympathetic response his body gave to Dean's apparent distress.

"What are you…?" Cas began, as Dean brought him to a close door. Dean shook his head, but his lip was white where his teeth dug into the soft flesh. Cas reached up and pulled Dean's lip from his teeth. The action brought a softness to Dean's determined gaze, but it soon hardened again. "Dean, we've both had an awful past twenty four hours… Perhaps it would be wiser for us to have some sort of conversation about recent events…"

Dean just squeezed Castiel's hand, bringing up his other hand to open the door in front of them. Before Castiel could see what laid inside, Dean turned to face him, taking his other hand in his own. Castiel ignored the clamminess.

"Cas," Dean said, voice unsteady. He cleared his throat. "Cas, I'm not good at words. Hell, I'm not good at a lot of things." Castiel made a noise to protest, but Dean squeezed his hands again. "Wait, okay. This is important." Dean took a deep breath, leading Castiel into the room.

The room was simple enough. A single bed jutted out from rusty orange coloured walls. But those were the only elements of neutrality Castiel could see. Besides the bed, which was made perfectly, the room was an absolute mess. Posters had been ripped from the walls, corners still stuck with yellowing tape. On the floor, broken glass and trinkets littered the hardwood. Castiel tried not to stare. Dean took another shaky breath.

"This is where I grew up," Dean said in a rush. He was only holding one of Castiel's hands, so Castiel squeezed it hard. "I, uh… I didn't leave it like this." Dean continued, and if Castiel hadn't sensed how important this was to Dean, he'd have scoffed at the obviousness of the statement.

"My dad, he was kind of a man's man, you know," Dean was saying, eyes trained to the floor. "He didn't take much shit, sort of a shitty guy if I'm being honest. But he did 'nam and he had rules, so I learned how to… I learned not to give shit unless I had to. I adapted."

Dean's voice cracked and Castiel was sure he was bruising Dean's hand with the ferocity with which he held it but he didn't care. Dean had always been pretty tight lipped about his father, but he could read between the lines. And the near confirmation of his father's abuse was already setting Castiel's blood simmering.

"Anyway," Dean said, clearing his throat. "All of…" Dean waved a hand at the chaos. " this, happened the night he found me with a guy in here. I probably shouldn't even had brought him here… He wasn't cute or anything. He was older than me and just… fuckin' off, you know?" Dean didn't wait for an answer, just squeezed his eyes shut at the confession. "But I don't know why I did it. Dad was out drinking and Sammy was at school and I just didn't wanna be alone anymore. Fuckin' pathetic. Anyway, I'd been turning a few tricks and the older guys usually paid more'n the younger ones…" Dean ran a hand through his hair, but Castiel didn't say anything. He just waited patiently for the rest of the story.

"Whatever, I shouldn't have brought him here. It was my fuckin' idea. I don't know what made me do it… That's a lie. I heard my dad laughing at some kid in Sammy's class, tellin' Sammy he should go outside instead of focusin' on book cos it'll make him a pansy like his classmate if he ain't careful. And, okay, I know about me. I know I got bowlegs and pretty lips. It don't give anyone the right to… But I know what they say and I know my dad never liked his boy bein' any kinda pretty. But Sammy? He was somethin' special, you know? And I guess… I don't know. I'd been trying so hard, it's like I wanted to get caught. I… Some part of me wanted my dad to see his big bad son, his number one soldier, on his knees in front of some guy, you know? I don't know if I'm makin' any sense, but he found us in the living room and he just got up and tore my room apart. He said if I wasn't takin' care of my brother and if I couldn't be fuckin' normal then what the hell was I good for, you know? God..." Dean chuckled, throat constricting. Castiel didn't even have to look at his face to know there were tears there.

"He, uh, didn't quite kick me out or anything. He just… I mean he told me what exactly he thought of me and my extracurriculars at this point. And Alis-" Dean swallowed loudly halfway through the name. "Alistair offered to take me away from it, you know? Promised me some stuff… I was an idiot. Anyway, the point is… The point is, I'm fucked up too. I'm sorry I didn't let you apologize and I'm sorry I couldn't… I'm sorry I didn't take care of you. I will though, I can now," Dean said, finally looking up. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but also a fierceness Castiel hadn't been expecting. His heart clenched at the sight, and he pulled Dean towards him almost automatically.

There wasn't anything to say, really. So Castiel didn't try to explain or put into words what exactly he felt aching in his chest. Instead, he ran his fingers through Dean's hair, kissing his neck.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Castiel said quietly. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean huffed, shaking his head.

"Shit, Cas. I meant to fuckin' console you with this shit, not break down cryin' like a goddamn baby," Dean said, nuzzling his neck.

"I understand why you shared it. Thank you," Castiel repeated, bringing Dean to face him, shoulders squared.

"Still. I meant to tell you… I trust you. I want you to know you can trust me too. I ain't going anywhere," Dean said. Castiel felt his own eyes burn at the sincerity in his gaze.

"Well," Castiel said gruffly, clearing his throat. "Thank you, Dean. I… I really appreciate that in such a difficult moment. Thank you for sharing that with me." Castiel gathered himself up to his full height. "Now, if you don't mind, I am going to have a shower and nurse this terrible headache I have inflicted upon myself through last night's foolish endeavour to forget my idiotic family."

Dean took a breath, wiping his cheeks.

"Right. Well, listen, if you want, you could…" Dean blushed, and, seeming to gather up his courage, he looked Castiel in the eye. "I know there's probably gonna be some pretty shitty stuff coming your way this week like funerals and family… But maybe for today, you could, if you want, you could stay here. I could… You could let me take care of you. I know you and your dad… Well I just know a thing or two about a deadbeat dad you're not sure you want alive or dead."

Castiel smiled, despite the tension, and nodded. Dean brightened considerably.

"Okay. You get out of this disaster zone. I'll call Bobby to tell him there's been an emergency," Dean said, straightening. Castiel's protest died on his lips when Dean continued. "When you're done, just head on back into our room, ok?" He came closer, tilting Castiel's chin up. "I…" Dean started, eyes wide and mouth open. He paused. "A-Alright?" he asked instead, and the moment broke. Castiel nodded.

"Of course," he said softly, and leaned up to kiss Dean chastely on the mouth. "Thank you, again."

And before Dean could protest, he slipped past him towards the hallway.

"First door on your right!" Dean called after him, and he tried not to think too much as he followed his directions.

Dean cooked breakfast while the shower ran. He plated it, dug up an old breakfast tray, and even had time to set out ibuprofen and water before he heard Cas shut off the water. He wasn't going to comment. In fact, after sharing that moment, he was glad for the time apart. Cooking always relaxed him, and taking care of someone was what he knew. He hurried to settle into bed, still in his boxers, and set up the laptop on another breakfast tray. Carefully balancing the breakfast onto the space beside him, he navigated to Netflix and scrolled until the documentaries section appeared.

Dean was so preoccupied with choosing the right episode of a History Channel that he didn't hear the door click behind Cas as he entered the room. Looking up, Dean choked on his sip of coffee.

Cas stood bare-chested in the doorway, pale blue towel slung low on his hips and a white on draped over his still-damp shoulders. His hair was slick with water and tousled, his two day stubble glistening with droplets. Dean swallowed, unable to tear his eyes away from where a rivulet of water ran behind Cas' ear and into the pool forming at his clavicle. A faint flush, from the hot water, presumably, stained Cas' chest. Dean's mouth watered at the sight of his peaked brown nipples, the elusive freckle standing out against pink skin. Cas cleared his throat.

"Dean, I..." Cas said, shuffling his feet. "I was wondering if you might have some clothing for me..."

Dean nearly spilled his coffee with how fast he jumped up to help.

"Of course, God, yes," Dean stuttered, already sifting through his wardrobe to find something comfortable. Cas, though shorter than Dean, was somewhat stockier, so Dean settled for a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. Cas thanked him, then waited with an expectant expression.

"Do you need me to, ah...?" Dean started, and Cas rolled his eyes.

"I supposed I should just look for my own boxers, then?" Cas replied instead of answering the half finished question. Before Dean could say anything, Cas plunged his hands into his top drawer and came up with what he wanted after a few moments of searching. He picked some black boxer briefs Dean had forgotten he owned, and turned around to face Dean.

"Alright, well, close your eyes!" Cas said, and Dean laughed, but obliged.

"I'm glad you decided to preserve your modesty, Castiel," Dean said sardonically as he covered his eyes with his hand and absolutely did not peek.

"Yes, well, I am sure you would see me as nothing but an easy mark otherwise," Cas said haughtily, but his dry chuckle gave away his sarcasm.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to think about how he had objectified a man in mourning as Castiel dressed. I am such an asshole played like a litany inside his head. Not loud enough, unfortunately, to drown out the fantasies that also ran through on a loop. Dean's less than pure thoughts were interrupted by Castiel clearing his throat.

Dean opened his eyes to a blushing Castiel standing in front of him, one arm holding his elbow, gaze trained to the floor. Castiel tugged on the edge of the shirt which was tight around his chest area and slightly too long.

"Dean, I'm sure you had plans for today, but I was wondering if maybe... I would very much like to just..." Castiel looked up at him with wide eyes. "Maybe rest?"

Dean rose to take Castiel's hands in his own.

"Of course, baby," he said, wincing at his apparent use of sappy nicknames. Castiel sagged in relief, though, and Dean felt it was worth it.

He led Castiel to where the breakfast, still miraculously somewhat warm, judging by the steam still emanating from the pile of eggs, sat on the tray. Castiel looked from the food to Dean several times, eyes wide with incredulity.

"Dean," Castiel whispered. Dean rubbed the back of his neck, snatching up the two pills and the glass of orange juice and offering them to Castiel as the man settled into bed. Castiel smiled weakly, and Dean tried to ignore the tears that threatened to fall from the blue eyes that stared up at him in reverence.

"Thank you," Castiel said, voice cracking.

Unsure of how to handle such gratitude and intense scrutiny, Dean huffed.

"You wouldn't be thanking me if you heard the thoughts I was thinkin' when you walked in here in that towel," Dean muttered, and Castiel genuinely grinned for the first time since the news of his father's demise.

Dean scoffed.

"Seriously, man," Dean continued, encouraged, "Talk about preserving your honor..."

Dean ignored the blush staining his cheeks in favor of the humor in Castiel's still watery gaze. Castiel's look turned a little mischevious, and Dean settled in beside him when he leaned in to say something conspiratorially.

"You should have heard the thoughts that went through my mind when I saw that purple lace number you've got stashed in that underwear drawer," Castiel said, voice low.

Dean sat ramrod straight, skin erupting in flame. It was a wonder the sheets hadn't spontaneously caught fire.

"What?" Dean spluttered, eyes immediately darting to where the drawer lay innocently closed. "How did you... What do you mean you... I..."

Castiel's smile was fading though, and he brought his covers up to his chin.

"Another time, sweetheart," Cas said, and Dean felt more blood rush to his head at the term of endearment. "I'd take you apart in those lace panties and make you watch just how much I appreciate the view..." Cas yawned and caught Dean's hand in both of his, rubbing his thumbs along his palm before settling it on his stomach. Dean's jaw dropped, unable to process the unexpected turn in the conversation. "But for right now, I want to eat this wonderful breakfast you have made for me, watch that documentary on otters, and indulge myself."

Dean gaped for a while longer, unmoving, until Cas looked at him questioningly.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean said finally, relaxing back into his pillows. "I feel like a jackass because of the timing, but..."

"Don't," Cas responded firmly, turning his head to meet Dean's gaze. "As you said, you know a bit about deadbeat dads who you're not sure you want alive... Being with you, that's something I am sure about. Thank you, Dean, for doing all this."

Dean shrugged.

"You basically get a free pass today, Cas. This is the shittiest of all shitty situations, so I'm going to do whatever I can to make it the least... shit possible," Dean said, grimacing at the awkward phrasing.

"Hmm," Cas said, looking up at Dean through his lashes. Dean glared warningly. Cas smiled briefly, before his expression turned shy again.

"Could you..." Cas said, bringing one of Dean's hands around his waist and turning away from him so that Dean's chest was against his back. "Would you please..." Cas' voice got even quieter, muffled a little by their positions. "Hold me?" He finished finally, and Dean automatically squeezed him close.

"Of course, baby," Dean said into his neck, "I got you."

Around the fourth documentary, which Dean was blatantly ignoring in order to kiss Cas' collarbones, Cas stretched, effectively dislodging Dean's mouth from his chest. Dean made an unhappy noise akin to a growl and nipped at Castiel's chest, nuzzling the skin around a nipple in protest.

"Sorry, Dean," Castiel said, yawning. "But I should really retrieve my phone and figure out the next steps..."

Dean sighed, relenting, and sat up straighter. He left a hand on Castiel's under the covers though, and squeezed before letting go so he could get up.

Running a hand through his hair in concern, Dean took the opportunity to clean up a little as Castiel went to the other room to check his phone. As soon as Castiel left, Dean's cellphone rang with an unmistakable Asia song.

"What's up, bitch?" Dean answered, tone sharp. "I'm busy."

"I know, Dean," came Sam's irritated voice. "You're busy making out with your boyfriend, I'm aware..."

"Hey," Dean warns, "it's not like that, okay. Cas had... Whatever, okay, there's kind of a crisis going on..."

"Yeah, well, there's kind of a crisis going on here too, Dean," Sam replied testily, and Dean fought the immediate panic rising in his chest. He forced his voice to remain level while he calculated how much time it would take to get to his brother. There was Cas to consider too. Dean was trying to figure out if he could be persuaded to come along for the ride, or if Dean's unwillingness to leave his side gave away how much he needed Cas. Probably more than the grieving man needed him.

"What's happening, Sammy?" Dean asked, despite his racing thoughts. He looked through the drawers for a pair of sweatpants to wear at the same time.

"Calm down, Dean," Sam said, patronizing. "I didn't mean a get over here, now crisis. It's just... The hospital called me..."

Dean's heart stopped. For a moment, he imagined Sam telling him his father had died. That the ventilators had been faulty or there had been a power failure and now his father was dead for good and Dean hadn't had a chance to introduce him to Cas. And God, really? The day after Cas' dad, were they cosmically linked or something? A million emotions flashed through his mind, not least of which confusion and irritation with Sammy receiving a call.

"What? How did they call you?" Dean asked, latching onto the smaller problem.

"Well I went to visit Dad a couple of times, asked them for updates. They said you were the only one listed as an emergency contact. So I gave them my number. But that's not the point, Dean. They said they've been waiting on forms from you!" Sam said accusingly, and Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

He was aware, of course, of the form that he had shoved behind the toaster in the kitchen. He knew it was the paperwork for unplugging his dad. But he'd wanted to save it for when Sam went off to college. He had been successfully avoiding the hospital, paying his bills dutifully and dodging phone calls easily. He hadn't planned on Sam taking an interest, much rest being made aware of the plans. He tried to think of a response, but Sam was already talking.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Sam said loudly. Dean didn't answer. "You let me keep some kind of sick hope that his condition wasn't what it is. What was the plan here, Dean? How were you going to hide this from me? Huh? Answer me, Dean!"

And suddenly Dean was reminded of the time he tried calling Sam while he was with Alistair. Dean had expected anger and yelling from his little brother, but what he had encountered was somehow worse. Sam had been hurt.

"What are you hiding, Dean? I could help you, just tell me!" Sammy had pleaded on the phone. Dean's hands had shaken when he hung up the public telephone. He hadn't tried to contact him again.

And now it was all coming back, it was all the same. Dean was trying to protect Sammy from his screwed up life, his fuckup older brother and father; but no matter what, the kid ended up hurt.

"I wasn't..." Dean started to answer, but choked on the obvious lie. He had been hiding. He tried again. "Damn it, Sammy. I just... I can't do this right now, ok? Just... Fuckin' stay out of it! I told you I'd take care of it so I'm going to take care of it. You don't gotta worry 'bout it, alright? I gotta go."

He heard his little brother's protest as he hit "End" and left the room to find Cas.

In the hallway, Cas was pacing the floor, talking loudly on the phone. He approached, but kept his distance in order to respect his privacy. Cas noticed him and beckoned him closer, waving off his concern. He mouthed "GABRIEL" and pointed to the mouthpiece. Gabriel was apparently giving Cas an earful, and not a pleasant one at that.

"Fine," Castiel responded finally. "I will close up shop for the next couple of days and tell Dean. I assume Anna will be in attendance as well? Perhaps we should order our tickets together."

Gabriel responded something, which Castiel did not enjoy, and their conversation ended with terse goodbyes. Castiel dropped the phone into his pocket and leaned forward towards Dean. He fell into Dean's open arms, breathing hard.

"When are we leaving?" Dean asked softly, hand stroking Castiel's dark hair. The man started a little.

"What? What do you mean?" Cas responded, pulling back to look up at Dean with confusion. Dean shrugged.

"To go to the funeral. When do we need to leave?" Dean asked, hands sliding down Castiel's cheeks to his shoulders. "If it's soon we might not have time to take the car, but I'll fly if we have to."

Cas stared at him.

"Unless, of course, you wanted to go alone... Which is totally fine," Dean added quickly. "But... I mean, if you want me... I'm coming with you."

Cas' eyes spilled over with tears and he pitched forward to bury his head in Dean's neck.

"I take it that's alright with you, then?" Dean asked, aiming for humour. The joke fell flat when his voice broke with emotion.

"Of course," Cas said solemnly, and kissed Dean's neck. "We... have to be there by tomorrow."

"Well, then, we better get some more cuddling in before I meet your bag of dicks family, shouldn't we?" Dean said, and winced at the harshness of his words. He couldn't help but feel resentment over thoughts of Cas being rejected by his own flesh and blood though.

"Lead the way, Winchester," Castiel said, gesturing to the bedroom. Dean pretended not to notice when Cas wiped his eyes and sniffled quietly, arm coming up around Dean's waist as they walked back to the bedroom together.


	3. Chapter 3

Though Dean and Cas both did their best to avoid it, the pair had to start thinking about packing. Cas had insisted he could pay for the flights, and they had booked them in bed, after much argument, trying to delay the end of the day as much as possible.

Eventually, Dean drove Cas home to retrieve a suitcase and some clothes. Though they were scheduled to stay only two days, as per Castiel's insistance, Cas brought enough clothing for a week. Dean didn't question it, but instead made a mental note to do the same. Soon enough, Castiel finished and was standing expectantly at the door way with a small carry on sized suitcase, Dean's sweat pants just a little too long on his stocky frame, and the ratty t-shirt still hanging off his body awkwardly. Dean's heart swelled at the sight, a strong fondness sweeping over him. He strode to the doorway and took Cas' face into his hands.

Leaning in so Cas knew his intent, he kissed him slow, deep. He savoured the taste of Cas' mouth. Dean lapped at his lips, nipping the soft flesh and shutting his eyes against all other feelings. I need you, he thought desperately. I want you. He hoped his kiss conveyed the message. Breaking the kiss, Dean paused in front of Cas, green eyes gazing steadily into blue.

"What was that for?" Cas asked, a little dazed. Dean chuckled but didn't answer.

"Come on, huggybear," Dean said, and Castiel raised his eyebrows. "Whatever, come on asshole!"

Dean ignored Castiel's light laugh in favor of opening up Baby's trunk for Castiel's luggage. Once it was placed inside, he drove them back to his dad's. When they arrived, Dean suggested Cas get back into bed and relax, but the man wouldn't hear a word.

"Actually," Cas said, sidestepping a cajoling Dean in the entryway to the bedroom. "I would much prefer doing something practical today, before we leave and our time must be wasted talking to idiots."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"You sure are affectionate towards your family, there, Cas," Dean said, a tender hand placed on Cas' shoulder in contrast with his words.

"I think we should clean your room," Cas replied, staunchly ignoring Dean's comment and standing up straight. Dean swallowed nervously.

"Come on, Cas," he said uncertainly.

"You said I had a free pass to do whatever I wanted, did you not?" Cas asked, matter of factly. Dean scowled.

"Well, yeah, but I meant more like sexual favours or ice cream runs," Dean mumbled petulantly. Cas placed his own hand over Dean's that rested on his shoulder.

"If you don't want to, I understand," Cas said after a moment, still peering at Dean with solemn eyes. He frowned a little before he continued. "But I think, once you do it, it'll be done. And then both of us can… be free."

Dean considered the man before him. Castiel, the one who could order him around like a dog on a leash, the one who could babble on nervously about bees for hours, who snored in his sleep, softly, and who was asking Dean if he could help with this ridiculous emotional baggage.

"I don't deserve you," Dean said, avoiding eye contact. Castiel hummed, but remained silent.

"Is that a yes?" Castiel asked hesitantly. Dean sighed.

"It's an okay," Dean replied. Castiel smiled against his neck.

"Good," he said said simply, and Dean tried to ignore the swell of pride at Cas' praise.

Twenty minutes later, Dean and Cas were entering his old room. Castiel insisted on holding Dean's hand, despite his protests. Trying not to panic, Dean bent down to pick up the first thing he saw on the floor: an old poster of Han Solo he remembered finding at a thrift store as a young teenager. His dad had allowed it because though Star Wars was considered a bit nerdy, of all the characters, Han Solo had arguably been the most manly. Cheeks blushing a little at the memories of certain late nights alone in his room with that poster, and the pinup one right beside it had him folding it up neatly to put away. Cas was holding a garbage bag, but Dean didn't put it in, despite the ripped corners. It was stupidly sentimental, and he'd probably end up throwing it out eventually, but he ignored Castiel's gaze and laid the poster on his old desk wordlessly.

If he took this long to get over a poster, this was going to be a long night.

Thankfully, however, the room was small. And despite the mess of broken knick-knacks littering the floor, the room hadn't had any real damage. A shelf needed to be reset on the wall, something Dean figured could easily be dealt with upon his return from Castiel's place, and the shades on the window were askew. They needed replacing, but Dean dusted and straightened them for now. Castiel ended up mostly trailing around after Dean as he shakily added to the piles of "keep", "maybe", and "trash". He never passed judgment, and rarely had comments that were unsolicited. Instead, he listened when Dean blabbed about the snow globe that had shattered on the rug in front of his bed that his mother had given him after she returned a very rare trip abroad. He smiled at all the right parts when Dean explained how they hadn't done much in the way of Christmas gifts, but Sammy had drawn up a "book of coupons" one year in lieu of a real gift, and Dean had never cashed them in. He joked that the next time he saw him, he was definitely taking him up on "1 free face slap, anywair, any time".

It was so much calmer, so much easier to forget the real reason Dean had avoided this space with Castiel's hand on his back, his encouraging smile at Dean's shared memories. The work was hard, but bearable, and when the room was presentable, after they'd changed the sheets and cleaned up the mess of items underneath Dean's bed and across the floor, Dean pulled Castiel down to the bed so they could rest.

"Are we going to make out on your twin size mattress now?" Castiel asked, after Dean kissed his neck. Dean laughed into his shoulder, tugging at the hem of his own shirt.

"Honestly?" Dean asked, leaning back to look Castiel in the eye. "There's nothing I'd like more than to make out with my boyfriend on my sixteen year old self's sad little bed. Why? You still wanna? Or are you backin' out now?"

Castiel's eyes shone with affection. The question was meant to be playful, but the tremble in Dean's voice gave away the solemnity of his askance.

"Never," Castiel said, kissing Dean's cheek chastely. Then, in his ear, "and of course I still want to."

Dean blushed even harder at the sincerity in Cas' voice, and let him stroke his jaw and hair without argument for a while.

"We ain't even kissin'," Dean complained after a moment, sitting up a little for leverage. Castiel shrugged, unperturbed, and continued to nose at Dean's collarbone and shoulder, pulling at his shirt to expose more freckled skin.

"I've done more with the head cheerleader in the supply closet than this, Cas," Dean admonished. Castiel frowned then, against his chest, and paused in his ministrations.

"Oh really?" Castiel asked, voice deepening. Dean swallowed.

"Well, yeah, Cas," Dean said, the confident bluster in his voice unable to mask his uncertainty. "I ain't a virgin."

"Hmm," Castiel said, considering. "I know that, of course..." Castiel nipped at Dean's throat, hands moving to his hips as he slid easily over him. "But maybe..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but instead sucked a bruise just below Dean's clavicle, fingers dancing along Dean's sides underneath his shirt.

"Maybe, what?" Dean asked, smirking a little at the possessiveness of each gesture.

"Maybe I should show you what a good boyfriend I can be," Castiel drew himself up to mutter in Dean's ear. Dean rolled his hips up instinctively, and Castiel hummed his approval. "Maybe I can be your head cheerleader."

And it shouldn't have been hot, to say such ridiculous things in someone's ear, crotches pressed together and limbs tangled in his childhood bed. They probably shouldn't have been making out, either, what with both of their precarious family situations and the impending flight to a funeral. Maybe it was inappropriate or conversely just too silly to even be arousing, but Dean couldn't help but imagine Castiel in her place, all those years ago.

Back in high school, John had been lenient when it came to Dean's social life. Though he barely paid attention anyway, he almost encouraged Dean in his sexual conquests. One time, Dean had gotten in trouble for skipping school, but when he'd reluctantly admitted to his father that it was because he had been making out with Lisa in the janitor's closet, John had just laughed it off. He'd clapped him on the back and said, voice full of pride, "Thatta boy! Like father, like son, huh soldier?" Dean had thought he would get a reprimand, but instead, he'd been praised.

So bringing Lisa home on a lunch break and taking things a little further in the privacy of his own bedroom? It was just logical.

And she'd brought that sexy little cheer leading outfit too; all red and white, showing off her toned midriff and riding up so he could already see her underwear. His seventeen year old self hadn't stood a chance when she'd straddled him on this very bed, just as Castiel was doing now.

Cas seemed to notice Dean's silence, because he didn't stop there.

"I could get all dressed up for you," Castiel was saying. He had pinned Dean to the bed. He could undoubtedly feel the sizable erection Dean was suddenly sporting at the words tumbling out of his mouth. The idea had Dean sweating. "In a little skirt. I bet I could make you forget all about everyone else who touched you in this bed..." Dean bit his lip, hands coming up to pull Cas closer to him, hips chasing release all on their own.

God, the words coming out of Cas' mouth. They shouldn't have been exciting, and yet the thought of Castiel putting on an outfit, getting dressed up just for Dean... He remembered Lisa's brown hair and the way her smooth tanned skin felt against him when they dry humped in his bed. It had felt new, it had felt incredible. And thinking about Castiel. Seducing him at school, not being afraid of getting caught but instead feeling like his dad would be proud of Dean's new conquest. And Cas wouldn't have been just a conquest. Dean imagined holding his hand at the lunch table. Them becoming the "it" couple. Meeting his family and having them joke awkwardly about marriage. He thought about what it would have been like to meet Castiel as a kid and have him tell seventeen year old Dean that jerking off to Harrison Ford was normal because the man was a fucking sex god. He thought about trying new things with Castiel as a teenager, never meeting Alistair, all the things that could have been. His heart swelled at the direction of his fantasies.

"You're-" Dean started, but he had to regroup when Castiel made a noise like a growl at being interrupted in his exploration of Dean's mouth. "You're a fucking menace."

Castiel smirked at him, and licked his neck.

"The things I want to do to you, Dean..." Castiel said, and Dean was pleased to see the man wasn't completely unaffected. In fact, his eyes darted from Dean's eyes, to his lips, to the red marks that surely stained his neck. Dean closed his eyes, the emotions getting the best of him. Castiel kissed his neck again, soft, in contrast to the way their bodies were coming together in a fast rhythm.

"Mmh, sweetheart," Castiel said against his neck. "The things I've thought about you..."

"Y-yeah?" Dean asked, breathless. He thought about Castiel's words earlier and tried not to let his voice waver when he asked, "like- like what?"

Dean felt rather than saw Castiel smile.

"Like what if you were the one who got dressed up for me, hmm?" Castiel said, almost too eager, as if the words had been waiting to tumble out of his mouth since the day he met Dean. "When I was looking for boxers and I saw that purple number in your drawer, I couldn't believe my eyes..."

Dean squirmed a little, feeling his skin heat and his breathing hitch a little. He had hoped Castiel had forgotten the lingerie he had left in his father's drawer. He'd brought it with him as a sort of fuck you to his old man. When he had stuffed the delicate underwear to the back of the drawer, behind the boxers and thick coarse worker socks, he'd thought, ha. What would John Winchester have to say about his oldest son, his favourite soldier, his second in command hiding women's lingerie in his top drawer; wearing it when he was alone; jerking off to the thought of feeling... pretty? Dean's face was on fire at the memory of placing them there; the memory of Cas finding them, his interest and careful nonchalance.

"Yeah?" Dean said again, unable to form more complicated sentences when Cas was tugging on his shirt. He leaned up as Cas nearly tore it from his chest. Once bare, he set to work on Dean's nipple, which left Dean thrusting into Cas' hip, needy.

"Yes, Dean. I thought, I hoped, they weren't some left over trophy. I imagined..." Castiel paused, taking in a shaky breath, then returning to bite Dean's sensitive nipple. He let up to continue talking. "I imagined coming home to find you in my bed, waiting for me, with nothing but that little nightie to cover you up. I thought about," Cas took a moment to kiss Dean's chest, no doubt sucking another claiming mark in the pale skin there. "About leaving it on while I kissed you. Rubbing you through the material. Letting the lace catch against your skin, your nipples..." Castiel's hand moved from Dean's side to his waistband, finger dancing above his crotch. "Your cock."

Dean whimpered, thrusting into Cas' hip again, breathing loudly.

"Dean," Castiel said then, and it was a prayer, a litany.

He laid a palm against Dean's erection, pressing down with enough pressure that another high pitched sound escaped Dean's mouth. Dean rut desperately into Cas' hold, his body aching for release. Castiel wasn't in a better state, his rhythm turning erratic as he sloppily laid a kiss on Dean's mouth. They weren't so much kissing anymore as they were breathing shared air, eyes locked and mouths open.

Then, Castiel shifted, lifting Dean so that he could fit his free hand behind him, and grabbed a handful of Dean's ass, pulling him in so that their dicks rubbed together through their clothing. Castiel thrust once, shutting his eyes in concentration, and Dean was gone. The combination of feeling the hard line of Castiel's arousal up against his own and the shock of Castiel's hand squeezing the muscle of his ass pushed Dean over the edge of his orgasm. He moved, thrusting through it, until he felt Castiel tense up too. The man kneaded the flesh of Dean's backside as he rode out his own climax. Then, collapsing on top of him, Castiel kissed Dean's sweaty neck, hand coming up to stroke his cheek. Dean leaned into the touch, eyes still closed, and smiled.

The afterglow was cut short by the uncomfortable feeling of soiled boxers, a feeling Dean had not experienced in several years.

"Damn, Cas," he said, wriggling a little to get the man to roll over. "The mouth on you... Got me coming in my pants like a damn teenager."

Cas smiled lazily beside him, t-shirt damp around his collar, either from sweat, or from Dean's increasingly sloppy kisses.

"And I haven't even really used my mouth on you yet," Cas quipped, rolling over onto his side to trail a hand down Dean's chest to his stomach, where his flesh was soft with a couple of extra pounds. Dean batted his hand away even as his dick gave a feeble twitch of interest at the words and light touches.

"Well," Dean said, shaking his head, "I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Want company?" Castiel asked, stretching so that his rumpled shirt rode up to his belly button. Dean hesitated.

"Nah," he said, fighting to keep his voice indifferent. "It's cool. Just gonna take a quick one."

Cas cracked an eye open in concern, but said nothing. Dean silently thanked the universe.

"Alright," Castiel acquiesced. "But I'm next!" Dean laughed weakly in return and head to the bathroom.

As he stripped off his clothing, he tried to ignore the pit forming in his stomach. He turned on the taps to very hot and sighed as the steam began to form already.

So, that's all it was. The first shared orgasm since...

He ignored the hammering of his heart and tried to convince himself it didn't mean anything. The image of Cas' face as Dean laid under him, the adoration and affection that seemed the undertone to every look Castiel ever gave him, highlighted then by the intensity of the moment... Dean brought his fist to his mouth and bit into it.

God, what was wrong with him? Wasn't he supposed to be broken? Hadn't Alistair said as much when he had talked about leaving the life? But here Dean was, like a moth to the flame, taking it like the slut he was. But then the way Cas looked at him... Dean's heart pounded in his ears as he tried to make sense of it. He knew he was good at sex. He had been told that enough times that it stuck. But sex with Cas, or, whatever they had done so far... It was different. It was reverent touches and soft kisses. It was that look that made Dean's chest ache with simultaneous loneliness and an overwhelming sense of belonging. Dean shut his eyes against the stream of scalding hot water as he stepped into the shower.

Ignoring his buzzing mind, he concentrated on steadying his breath, pushing down the complicated implications of their shared intimacy.

Castiel tried his best not to say anything once Dean returned from the shower. Instead, he got up to take his own, and mulled over the best way to comfort Dean. Normally, he would jump to comfort the man, but after what had happened the other day, as well as throughout the past month of knowing Dean... Well, it seemed like smothering Dean would only lead to him pulling away. Unfortunately, the two of them seemed to share a need for privacy when vulnerable. Still, Castiel had heard the tremor in Dean's voice. He would like to believe himself knowledgeable enough in Dean's language to be able to tell when the man was lying. So, Castiel showered quickly, perfunctorily. He did his best to shake the feeling of uncertainty when he left the bathroom to meet Dean, so as to make the man feel safe and cared for.

To his surprise, upon his arrival, Dean was lying in bed already, lights off, breathing steadily. Castiel, who had spent many years feigning sleep during family arguments, could see the signs. Still, he kept silent. Instead of confronting Dean, Castiel got into bed, still completely naked and perhaps somewhat damp, and slid in behind him quietly. Humming disapprovingly when Dean pretended to snore, he deliberately shoved his cold nose into Dean's neck. The man stiffened instinctively. So, unable to keep the charade up, he groaned loudly as if woken up.

"Cas..." Dean said through a very fake yawn. Cas didn't answer, only burrowed further into Dean's warmth. "C'mon, man, I was sleeping."

Cas sighed.

"Dean," he said quietly, seriously. Dean tensed again, as if caught. "I have to confess..."

Cas felt a shiver run through Dean's spine and the man inched away on the bed. Cas wrapped his arms around his middle, unsure of how else to keep him in his vicinity.

"Will you look at me?" Cas inquired quietly, and Dean shrugged, scoffing loudly.

"Why, Cas? Miss my mug already?" he asked, but his laugh was shallow. Cas kissed the back of his neck.

"Yes, kind of," he said quietly. Dean sighed and turned around.

His hair was still damp, but the blonde locks were drying slowly, some sticking to his forehead, but the rest standing up in awkward directions. Castiel would have smiled, but Dean's eyes stayed fixed on his own hands, his forehead creased in apparent annoyance. A thin sheen of sweat that formed on his brow contradicted his furrowed expression, however, and Cas brought a hand up to touch the frown on his face. Dean flinched, and Cas retreated immediately, letting go of Dean's waist with his other hand and staring determinedly at Dean's face. His cheeks were red, and he bit his lip white.

"Alright, well," Dean said, still frowning. "What's up?"

Dean looked up at Castiel then, his green eyes glaring. Castiel just stared at him solemnly.

"I have to confess..." Castiel started again, but Dean cut him off.

"What, Cas? Disappointing? Not everything you'd hope it would be?" Dean asked, smiling in a way that didn't reach his eyes, which remained wide and accusatory. It was Castiel's turn to frown.

"Of course not, Dean," Castiel replied gently, resisting the urge to bring a hand up to Dean's lip so he could pull his lip free. "What I was going to say," Castiel continued. "Is that I have a confession about the way I enjoy... intimate moments. Particularly, how I feel... afterwards."

"Look, Cas, I don't think I could get it up again, alright? So if you're asking for a do-over here man..." Dean started, and Castiel could help but make an aborted move to stroke Dean's face to shut him up. Dean blinked at the movement, which stopped Castiel at the last moment.

"No, no," Castiel shook his head, leaning in closer so that Dean had no choice but to stare into his eyes. "I just meant... I haven't had much experience with sexual encounters, but what I have had... Well, it was not ideal. So, I want to be as clear as possible with my needs. I know it isn't sexy to discuss such matters, but today was a good example of what I don't like."

Dean cringed, recoiling immediately. Castiel brought a palm up to his forehead.

"Shit, no. Dean," Castiel said, catching his eye again. "I meant... I am not a casual sex kind of man. And when I share a moment like that with someone... I feel... vulnerable. So I really just need... I would really feel more at ease with..."

Comprehension dawned on Dean's face.

"You wanna cuddle!" he exclaimed, shoulders finally relaxing and concerned expression slowly receding. "Cas, you want me to hold you! Why didn't you just say so?"

Dean immediately came closer, breath mingling with Castiel's.

Though part of this endeavour had been a ploy to help Dean, Castiel felt relieved at Dean's reaction. The reality was he was much the same; he hadn't realized how much he had been craving the intimacy of Dean's embrace, his closeness. Dean tentatively put his arms around him, drawing him close and maintaining eye contact. He brought a hand up to touch Castiel's lips, and Castiel couldn't resist poking his tongue out to taste his clean skin.

Dean tsked, taking his finger away, smiling shyly, and rubbed his thumb along Castiel's jaw line. His finger scratched against the near beard that had formed over the past two days. Castiel found himself tearing up at the tender attention. Somehow, watching Dean this closely now was more intimate than any heated sexual interaction they had had in the past. He was surprised to feel Dean wipe away a stray tear, kissing his cheek where it left a streak against his skin.

Thought Castiel had been trying to take care of him, Dean had somehow stumbled into caring for Castiel again. He shook his head, smiling.

"What's got you laughing, darlin'?" Dean asked, clearly more at ease in the role of caretaker than the cared for. Castiel shook his head again, smiling. Dean shrugged and kissed his temple, squeezing his arms tightly around Castiel's stocky frame.

"Do you want to know a secret?" he asked quietly in Cas' ear. Castiel nodded silently.

"I may or may not like cuddling too," Dean whispered. Castiel wrapped his arms around him tightly and smiled against his skin.

He fell asleep to the smell of Dean, mechanic, bad boy, and closet cuddler.

The next morning was a blur. Though they had prepared and specifically booked a later flight in the day, the departure was still rushed. Castiel discovered he had misplaced his favourite pair of sock, of all things, and even though it was hotter than Satan's armpit outside, Dean and him ended up searching for it in the bedding and in John' room for a good twenty minutes. Dean tried to be patient, but tensions ran high since they woke up. Both he and Castiel were harried and exhausted despite their lengthy sleep by the time they arrived at the airport. Dean barely had time to call Bobby to let him know he wouldn't make it to work over the next two days in case he needed him before he was being ushered less than gently through security, where an agent insisted on frisking him. Dean tried to release the tension in his shoulders, to appear less worried if only so that the agents wouldn't be suspicious, but he could barely stop his hands from shaking when the security was finally over. Castiel came through shortly after and immediately grabbed Dean's hand. The tension from the morning dissipated a little.

"Dean," Castiel said, rubbing his back. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, uh, did I mention my, uh..." Dean gulped upon seeing a small plane leave the gate. "My fear of flying?"

Castiel stopped in his tracks, Dean's carry on luggage coming to bump the back of his heels when the man kept walking.

"Dean!" Castiel exclaimed, frowning at him. "Why didn't you say something!"

"I did, I offered for us to road trip it but I knew it would take too long..." Dean mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and finding cold sweat there too. Castiel shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"You didn't need to come with me! I could have gone alone if it meant you didn't have to go through this. I'm so sorry..." Castiel had his arms on Dean's shoulder in the middle of the airport in a too tender embrace. Dean couldn't help but glance around, heart already hammering from his impending flight. The motion did not escape Castiel's notice, who dropped his hand and brought it to his suitcase instead.

"We're flying first class," Castiel added, hand twitching on the handle of his luggage. Dean huffed.

"What, Cas? You didn't tell me that!" Dean said, as they started walking again. Dean's pace increased with the volume of his voice. "What'd you do that for?"

"Well, I wanted us to be comfortable and..." Castiel looked a little sheepish then. "Well, it is my parent's money. I figured if I must attend, I should at least make the most of it..."

Dean's worried and strained expression melted then, and he took Cas' palm into his own again. Cas smiled a little at the compromise, and their pace slowed.

"Sorry," Dean mumbled when Castiel squeezed his hand again.

"For what?" Castiel asked, frowning.

Dean looked at him far longer than was safe when walking, then smiled lopsidedly.

"My damn sweaty palms!" Dean replied cheekily. Cas smiled at the joke and decided to let it go, though he knew there was more to that admission.

It wasn't long before they were at their gate and boarding was being announced.

Dean anxiety really ratcheted once the engine rumbled to life. The aircraft was a smaller one, and he kept fidgeting in his seat, even though they had been alloted the comfier chairs with the larger legroom at the front. As soon as a flight attendant passed, Castiel flagged her down. He muttered something under his breath and she glanced at Dean, who was gripping the armrests and glaring at the little screen in front of him. His teeth were bared and sweat was trickling down his right templed. She nodded curtly, as if making a decision, and was gone. Dean barely noticed or cared about the exchange, preferring instead to concentrate on whispering Baby's several different parts and machinery in his head.

He was halfway through dismantling her engine mentally, when the pilot gave a speech about seatbelts and, oh god., take off. Dean winced as he tried to concentrate when the flight attendant showed up with something in a bag. She discussed briefly with Castiel, who seemed to reassure her and hid the bag under his seat.

"What's that?" Dean asked through gritted teeth.

"She just did me a favour, don't worry about it," Castiel waved him off with one hand, producing a plastic cup out of the other. "In the menatime, however, I've got a very nice gift for you!"

He reached into the mysterious bag and turned his back so that Dean could not see what he was doing. Straining to get a glimpse, he was soon saved the trouble when Castiel turned around. He was holding the same plastic glass, filled almost to the brim with amber liquid.

"You hadn't had time to go to the bar before we left and you mentioned not liking pills in case anything happened on the flight, so I thought maybed..." Castiel held up the glass, smiling. Dean felt a tiny amount of relief flood through this body at the sight.

"Cas, you're amazin'," Dean said, grabbing the liquid from his hand and sighed in relief at the familiar smell of whiskey.

Castiel smiled wryly back at him.

"I know," he said cheekily, and Dean rolled his eyes as he lifted the glass to his lips. He winced as it hit the back of his throat and immediately the plane began to move. Eyes widening in terror, Dean threwback the entire glass, coughing a little as it went down. He looked to the ceiling, trying hard to concentrate on anything but the sound of his own heart beating fast in his chest. He squeezed the armrests, closing his eyes. Cas put his hand over Dean's, lacing his fingers between Dean's and staring at him nervously. Dean shot a look at him and felt slightly better.

Castiel leaned in over the armrest, kissing Dean on the cheek, and sat back down. Dean smiled gratefully and mouthed Thank you. Cas shook his head, squeezing Dean's hand again.

"Thank you," Cas said quietly, just loud enough to hear over the roar of the engine now in the air. Dean closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the head rest.

Castiel relaxed a little, until he felt Dean move again. He looked over, but Dean was still leaning back with his eyes closed. His hand around the glass. He tapped it twice, without saying anything, then peeked a look at him, smiling a little. Castiel barked a laugh, reaching for the bag underneath his seat.

"Fine, but I'm having one too then," Castiel said, and Dean grinned then, the last of the tension in Castiel's body leaving him at the sight.

Castiel's family didn't greet him at the terminal. Dean was under the impression that this was common practice for families, especially large ones, according to TV and movies. But Castiel didn't seem surprised so Dean didn't call attention to it. Instead, Castiel calmly walked over to the town car rental booth, leading Dean away from the taxi stand he was headed towards. Castiel ordered a car, and at Dean's incredulous look at the unnecessary expense, he simply rolled his eyes.

"Not my money," Castiel reminded him, and accepted the instructions the attendant gave him to wait outside the airport.

Soon enough Dean was climbing out of a black sedan in front of an enormous house. They had gone through a gate and what had seemed like miles of gardens before arriving at what Dean referred to as Novak Manor in his head. And it really did seem like a victorian age manor, completely with rococo stylings in the foyer.

"Damn, Cas," Dean muttered, but Castiel remained silent, as he had since they entered the town car. Dean suddenly felt self conscious of his airplane attire, just a pair of torn jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Not to mention the fact that he was still slightly tipsy from all the whiskey they had drunk on route. He hoped his breath didn't give him away.

He was just about to ask Cas if he might have any gum when the maid who had greeted them at the door returned with a short, balding man and a tall, imperious looking woman in tow. Castiel had coached Dean a little on the names and general descriptions, but even without the heads up, Dean knew this was Naomi.

"Mrs. Novak," Dean greeted prematurely. Naomi closed the distance between them without hurry and eyed Dean's apparel with blatant distaste. She glanced at his outstretched hand and turned to Castiel without comment.

"Castiel," she said. Dean took back his hand, polite smile still in place, and looked back to his companion.

Castiel stood tall, Dean had to give him that much, with his chin jutting out in defiance. Otherwise, however, his hands were placed behind his back and his eyes remained trained to the floor. Dean frowned at the sight, used to a more carefree, awkward version of his Cas.

"Mother," Castiel said finally, nodding once. Lifting his eyes to the balding old man he nodded again. "Uncle," he added. The man barely acknowledge the greeting.

"I am glad you were able to attend your father's funeral," Naomi said, but her voice conveyed anything but gladness. "We have set up your old room for you. I assume your friend has made plans for his own accommodations?"

Dean flushed bright red, immediately feeling like an idiot. He had assumed that Castiel had taken care of their sleeping arrangements and had completely forgotten to ask him where they'd be staying. He had also assumed his family would have been warned of his presence. Since neither were done, he struggled to come up with a response to the awkward situation.

"Uh, I totally spaced," Dean blurted, eyes a little wide and mind working fast. "But I am probably gonna find a hotel or something around-"

"Dean will be staying with me, in my room, as he is my guest and we are romantically involved," Castiel cut him off. His voice was matter of fact, and he met Naomi's eyes for the first time since she appeared at the end of the enormous foyer. Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Castiel grabbed his hand and squeezed it, stopping him. "Will there be any issues?" Castiel asked, near innocent. Dean resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at Naomi, whose poker face rivaled the best gamblers.

"I see," Naomi responded coldly, and she laced a hand around the shorter balding man's arm. "Very well. Francine," she said, gesturing to the maid. "Please see that my son and his..." Naomi looked over Dean again, mouth pursed in disgust. "Guest are tended to?"

Francine nodded once and moved to take Dean and Cas' luggage. After a few minutes of struggle in which Dean tried to insist that he take up his own luggage and Francine was supremely uncomfortable, a butler showed up to help with the baggage and Castiel tugged Dean up the stairs to follow him.

"I'm sure you remember dinner is at five thirty sharp?" Naomi said as they made their way up the stairs. Castiel didn't bother stopping to respond.

"Yes, mother," said Cas, and Dean couldn't help but smile a little at the way Castiel rolled his eyes.

Well. That wasn't so bad, Dean thought. He expected yelling and cursing, like the time Sammy had lost his retainer and his father had found out how much a new one was going to cost. The result had been a twelve minute lecture from a slightly drunk John on how irresponsible Dean had been in letting Sammy go on that field trip, and who was he to give the boy a permission slip. "You're not his fuckin' dad, Dean. I'm his goddamn father!" Dean had known exactly how long that one had lasted because he had used the counting trick. He knew if he talked back this time Sammy'd never get that new retainer, so instead of reacting he'd counted the seconds until John had finally tuckered himself out and reluctantly agreed to a trip to the dentist. Dean had counted that a victory.

But being in this house... It was a different kind of anger. It was one that simmered and festered under the surface, like an infected sore covered up. Dean told Castiel as much after the butler and maid shut the door on their admittedly bland room. Castiel laughed, a little of the light in his eyes returning. Dean immediately forgave his mocking laughter at the relieving sight.

"My family doesn't yell, not really," Castiel said. Dean figured as much, but he let him talk. "I told you I left home when I came out? Well, like I said, they didn't look for me. They didn't say anything. I see you, and you're full of life. You're loud and unapologetic in your joy, your anger, your l-... Your life." Castiel looked at Dean fondly, even though he blushed dark at the praise. He lifted a hand to Dean's freckled cheek and smiled.

"That's why I love spending time with you. You wear your emotions on your sleeve, so I never feel like I am truly being deceived," Castiel said affectionately. Dean huffed.

"Whatever, I'm a damn good liar, ok?" Dean protested, but Castiel just shook his head sadly.

"It wouldn't matter even if you were because I know you, and I know you have the best intentions, always," Castiel said, in that matter of fact tone again. Dean rolled his eyes but didn't protest. "My family is the opposite. The calmer or more level-headed they seem, the more likely they are to be planning something vile. Not to mention that any kindness on their part is usually motivated by the worst intentions: self serving and egotistical..."

Castiel looked at Dean with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry that I am putting you through this... I know... I know it must be upsetting to see my true nature, to know what I have come from and to know what I am made of," Castiel said then, dropping his hands to his sides and looking down at the floor again. Dean took a hold of Castiel's chin, bringing his face up to his own.

"Hey," Dean said softly. "Hey," he said again, until Castiel met his eyes. "I know exactly what your 'true nature' is. I know what you're really made of. And it's... It's letting a guy you barely know sleep in your bed because he's too drunk to be left alone," Dean said, and Castiel rolled his eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched even though his eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "It's listening to the mess of a past I've had and being fucking patient with me while I figure it out," Dean added, voice soft again. Castiel frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but Dean just placed a finger on his lips. "It's offering free lemonade to a customer who has yet to pay for a single serving of the stupid stuff!" Dean said, louder then, and Castiel couldn't help but smile at that one, shoving Dean's shoulder a little.

"You're not your parents, okay?" Dean whispered, leaning in to kiss Castiel's nose.

Castiel nodded once and leaned in to taste Dean's mouth.

A knock at the door and a subsequent bang as the door burst open interrupted the two in their embrace.

"Cassie!" came the familiar voice of Castiel's brother. "It's five twenty, little bro! Wouldn't wanna miss the show!"

Dean sighed as Castiel stepped back, opening his luggage.

"Gabriel," Castiel said sourly. "Give us a minute to get dressed..."

Before Gabriel could respond, Castiel quickly added, "Not undress. We will be changing into dining attire and will see you in ten minutes. Now please kindly fuck. Off."

Castiel didn't even look up from his suitcase as Gabriel let out a cackle and closed the door. Perhaps it shouldn't have been sexy to hear Castiel curse his brother out like that, but if Castiel noticed Dean was a little handsy when they got dressed after Gabe left, he didn't mention it or complain.

Castiel had brought a tie. He was wearing some smart black slacks and a goddamn tie, and Dean was in jeans and a dress shirt. He'd asked if denim was appropriate for dinner from the bathroom where he got ready, and Castiel had said yes. He had held up his best dark jeans and a button up he had digged out of the back of his closet, and Castiel, who had only been in boxers at the time, had waved his approval. Cas had mentioned his family was "formal". So Dean had brought the button up just in case. It was dark green, a gift from Sam he thought, one his father hadn't touched in his old room because it was so far back in his closet it probably had never seen the light of day. When Dean had seen what Castiel had decided to wear, he'd asked if he should change and put on his funeral suit tonight too. Instead of answering him properly, Cas had taken the suit from his hands and wrapped himself around Dean possessively.

"I'm gonna take that as a no..." Dean had replied, giving in and kissing Cas' neck as the man grabbed at his hips tightly.

They were late, but Dean was pretty sure the welcome would have been just as cold if he'd made it on time. Dark denim wasn't going to cut it, and Dean tugged self-consciously at the hem of his too-casual shirt nervously as Castiel let go of his hand to sit down at the large table. Fuck, Dean thought. Should've insisted on the suit…

Before he could say anything to apologize for their tardy arrival, however, Naomi cleared her throat, holding out her hands expectantly at the men seated beside her. Looking around the table, Dean saw Anna and Gabriel seated on either side of Castiel, who was directly in front of him. Dean looked to his side where a man held out a hand to his right, and another to his left. He frowned, but took the proffered hands without contest. Castiel did the same, eyes not leaving Dean's. Gabriel rolled his eyes as he took the hand of man beside him who sat at the head of the table; the man Castiel had called uncle. Dean wracked his brain for the names of his siblings, but his thoughts were interrupted by "Uncle" nodding his assent at Naomi's unasked question. Everyone bowed their heads in unison. It resembled a practiced play, but Dean felt as if he had missed rehearsal. He belatedly ducked his head too, but didn't close his eyes like the others. While the man recited a prayer that Dean paid little attention to, he felt a nudge at his foot from Castiel. Stealing a glance up from his bowed position, he saw Castiel wink at him. He smiled, hoping the nervousness hadn't bled through in his expression. Castiel smiled back, though his face was strained too.

Well, at least they were together in their uncomfortableness.

"Amen," the man said, and Dean lifted his head to look for food at the table.

"Amen," everyone replied, heads still bowed.

"Amen," Dean mumbled belatedly, bowing his head again, but the prayer was already over and he got a few questioning glances at his attempt to rectify his blunder. He shrugged them off, ignoring Gabriel's snicker, and focused at the complicated ornaments set on the table. As far as he could tell, nothing edible was tabled, except maybe the butter and whatever was inside the china gravy boat by the head of the large dining table. On each side of the stack of plates in front of him, four different types of forks and knives sat gleaming in the light of the ridiculously ornate chandelier above them. Dean swallowed and tried to remember what Castiel had mentioned about etiquette. When Dean had asked how rich his family was, Castiel had just said that they were wealthy... But the intricate designs in the ceiling molding, the antique silverware... Castiel came from old money. Dean picked at a loose seam near his jean pocket. He was startled by a hand on his shoulder and a polite smile from a maid as she set down a bowl of soup in front of him. Dean thanked her, flashing her his Winchester smile, but she just scampered away, looking slightly terrified and blushing. He shrugged and picked up the outermost spoon on the top sid eof his plate.

"So, Dean," Naomi said, as everyone began their first course. Castiel nudged Dean's foot so that he caught his attention. Dean glanced at his encouraging face before turning to Mrs. Novak. "I don't think you have been introduced to my eldests. Lucifer, Michael, Dean. Dean, this is Lucifer and Michael."

The two brother couldn't have looked less alike. Lucifer had blonde hair cropped short on his head and what seemed to be a permanent mocking smile pasted on his face. Michael was dark haired, his locks slicked back and his gaze cool as he shook Dean's hand in greeting. Though Lucifer barely greeted him, it was Michael whose presence put dean on edge. He couldn't help but feel as if the man knew him already, as if he could see through his cheap Target brand shirt and utilitarian work boots. He smiled nervously at each of them in turn.

"Nice to meet you," Dean said politely. Lucifer barely disguised a snort into a cough, and Michael ignored him.

"It was very nice of you to accompany Castiel on such a personal trip," Naomi said, pursing her lips. Dean was starting to wonder if her mouth was simply set that way. "Though I fear it may be quite boring for you, seeing as this is mostly a private family matter."

Dean opened his mouth to respond to the thinly veiled insult, but Gabriel beat him to it.

"Cas brought him, Mother," Gabriel blurted. His lips curled around the word Mother as if the word itself was poison.

"He's Castiel's family," said a smaller voice. Everyone turned to where Anna sat, chin raised in defiance. Naomi glared wordlessly at the two of them.

"Yes, well," Naomi said, sitting up straighter and looking much like a bird whose feathers had been ruffled. "It was nice of Castiel to return home after his time away regardless."

Castiel bit his lip, and it was Dean's turn to nudge his boot against Castiel's dress shoes.

After another fifteen minutes spent in incredibly tense silence, the second course finally arrived. Looking down at the salad he had been offered by the same maid, Dean looked up at Cas, panicked. It was no wonder the man had left this household as soon as possible, Dean was losing it and it had barely been more than a few hours. Ignoring everyone else, Castiel lifted his hand from his lap and put it on the table, reaching out halfway across the utensils and flower arrangements to rest between them. Dean glanced down at it in confusion, before Castiel made an impatient grabbing motion with his hand. Uncertain, Dean lifted his own hand to meet Castiel's. Looking back up at his eyes, Castiel squeezed his hand and mouthed, THANK YOU.

Dean blushed, trying not to notice the scrape of Naomi's fork against her plate or the sharp intake of breath from his right where Michael sat. The uncle guy... Zachariah, Dean recalled finally, cleared his throat, obviously meaning to speak. He was cut off by Michael, however, who stood abruptly from his chair. The ornate wooden seat was loud as Michael sprung from it unceremoniously. He was glaring at his mother.

"Really?" he said, the cool and collected face Dean had noted earlier contorted with rage as he gestured towards Dean and Cas' fingers still intertwined. "Are we to just ignore this... this..." Michael searched for the right word, pale skin turned blotchy with the effort of controlling himself. "Abomination at our very own dinner table? Surely you have something to say about Castiel's disgraceful... companion!" Michael said. Flecks of spit landed on Dean's empty wine glass went unnoticed as the entire table focused on Michael's outburst.

"Don't you remember what I caught him doing? Don't you remember that disgusting excuse of a friend Castiel had? And now you let him back into our home, you pretend this friend isn't his... his homosexual lover!" Michael finished, eyes still boring into Naomi's calm stare.

"Michael, please calm down and finish your dinner. This is a trying time for all of us, but if you are unable to behave, I will see to it that you are removed from the room. You know I do not tolerate such discourtesy in our home," Naomi said, gaze unwavering and emotionless. Dean gaped openly at the scene unfolding before him, but did not miss the way Castiel twitched at his mother's reprimand.

"Oh, I see!" Michael exclaimed, pushing his chair back in with unnecessary force and leaning down so he was face to face with Dean. His breath came hot against Dean's neck and though his face flushed with anger, Dean could only see cold, calculating blue in Michael's dead eyes, inches away from his own.

"You think you're special?" Michael whispered, but the silence in the room made the words louder than they should have been. "You're not. Castiel has done this before, and he will do it again. You're nothing but another way for him to absolve his privileged guilt, another way to hurt the family who hurt him first. Don't you see it? Wake up, Dean Winchester," Michael said, disgust dripping from his tone at the name he uttered through gritted teeth. "You're nothing."

Straightening up, Michael suddenly changed his demeanor. The red patches still stained his skin, but he regained his composure, eyes returning to their flat fury.

"As for you, mother," Michael said, the cold anger in his voice piercing his words, "we all know the real reason you invited our disgrace of a brother back into your home. I can only hope the sale of your morality affords what you seek from this pathetic excuse of a man you call your son." Turning to Castiel, he spat. "She's using you. Just like everyone has. Just like everyone should. Trash."

Naomi rose to her feet at that, glaring at Zachariah, who remained seated throughout the speech, but who quickly rose to his feet at her look, adopting an indignant glare. Michael simply held up a hand, a placating grin paired with an icy stare on his face.

"Don't worry, mother-dearest. No need for any force," he said. "It seems I have lost my appetite, anyway," he added, gesturing at where Dean and Castiel's hands remained entwined. "I'll see myself out."

And with that, Michael stormed out of the room. Castiel rose from the dinner table shortly thereafter, finally letting go of Dean's hand, and turned to his mother. He nodded once, curtly, and Dean could see his hands were trembling, whether from shock, anger, or self-restraint, he couldn't tell. But he hastily did the same and followed him out, unsure of what else to do.

Castiel nearly sprinted up the stairs to their shared room. He said nothing, but as soon as the door was closed he let out a frustrated breath. His face was flushed, and Dean could see tears forming at the corners of his eyes. But it wasn't sorrow that marred his handsome face. Instead, an aura of rage surrounded Castiel in his sharp movements as he all but tore the tie from his neck. The material whipped through the air and caught on the bedpost. Castiel was turned away from Dean, and he paced for a moment, face hidden, before crouching down to pick up the clothes strewn on the floor. Nodding, Castiel started folding them on the bed, precise, neat, if a bit aggressively. He quickly moved on to the toiletries lined up on the dresser and started stuffing them back into the small suitcase he had brought. It was then that Dean realized this wasn't just angry spring cleaning.

"Hey," Dean said, putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder from behind him. Castiel looked up to the mirror that faced them both and their eyes met in the reflection. Castiel looked downright dangerous. Dean's gaze was wide, a little fearful.

Without a word, Castiel turned around and grabbed Dean, manhandling him so that he was the one facing the mirror, with Castiel pressed up behind him. Dean knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Castiel's authoritative stare.

"This was a fucking mistake," Castiel ground out, pressing his chest up against Dean's back. The heat of his gaze sent shivers down Dean's spine as he tried to concentrate on the right thing to do here.

"I just want to be alone with you," Castiel said, low in Dean's ear. His eyes didn't leave Dean's, and he was vaguely aware of his skin flushing red. He avoided his own image in the mirror, focusing instead on the predatory look Cas was giving him.

"Look at you," Castiel said then, as if reading his mind. "Look at yourself," he repeated, and this time there was no mistaking the command in his voice. Dean shifted his eyes to his own, breath coming in short gasps as Castiel's hands roamed free across his chest, grazing a nipple through the thin fabric of his pathetic dress shirt.

"It's a crime, Dean," Castiel kept talking, but Dean was having a hard time with what had just conspired in the dining room and what was now taking place before his eyes. He shut them, overwhelmed, but that earned his nipple a hard pinch as Castiel bit his neck at the juncture of his shoulder. "I didn't tell you to stop looking," Castiel said darkly. He pushed dean harder against the short bureau. The sharp edge of the chest of drawers pressed against Dean's groin; paired with the pressure of Castiel's erection against his ass, Dean couldn't help but let out a groan.

"It's fucking criminal the way you look," Castiel continued, as if Dean wasn't whimpering softly at the insinuation of Cas' hands under his shirt. "Do you see yourself, sweetheart? My mouth waters at the sight of you. In the morning, all ruffled and mussed. In the heat of the day... I want to be the drops of sweat on your skin. And at night, when you're finally the only sun outside... I can't get enough of you, baby."

Dean wanted to look away from the blushing stranger in the mirror, but he knew Cas was watching him, and the dutiful soldier in him wanted to make Cas proud. He could follow orders. Even if it meant having to stare at the writhing, shameless mess in front of him while Cas whispered words that couldn't, shouldn't describe Dean; like beautiful and gorgeous and beloved. Dean felt his head clear a little at that last one, so he gained purchase on that thread of coherence, pushing away from Cas' hips, earning a disgruntled snarl from his partner.

"Hold on," Dean said. "Wait, just wait!"

Castiel remained single minded, apparently, and Dean was suddenly flooded with all the questions he had upon returning to the room. Questions about what Michael meant by Naomi wanting to be in Cas' good graces, questions about how Cas left, questions about naming your kid Lucifer. Castiel ignored Dean, sucking a bruise into his neck as his other hand traveled south to the zipper of his jeans. Dean pressed into his warm palm, unable to resist, before remembering the context of the situation.

"Stop," Dean said abruptly, pulling back from Castiel's demanding kiss.

Castiel looked up at him with that same predatory look for a moment, and Dean worried he wouldn't stop, worried he himself would be unable to protest again. But as soon as he thought it, the moment passed, and Castiel backed up quickly, his expression disgusted.

"Oh, God," Castiel said, backing away further so that the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. Dean made ot approach him, but Castiel waved him off. "No, I..." Castiel started, and his voice broke. "Oh, Dean, I'm so sorry..."

Dean shook his head, coming closer, and Castiel allowed him to kneel down to his level.

"Cas, baby," Dean said, putting his hands on Castiel's own where they had come up to hide his face in shame. "It's okay."

Cas stood up so quickly, he stumbled a little, knocking Dean off balance.

"It's not okay!" Castiel cried, anger and hurt both bleeding into his words. "I was just so... I didn't mean to take it out on you, but it just feels so... It feels like I can't..."

Castiel wasn't finishing his sentences, taking huge gulps of air between words and getting progressively more and more worked up. Dean approached him cautiously again, getting up and placing his hands on Cas' shoulders tentatively.

"Baby, breathe," Dean said.

Dean was suddenly oddly reminded of his brother coming home with a bad grade a long time ago, and calming him down. Sammy had been scared to tell John, convinced he would be angry with his youngest son for getting less than perfect on his math exam. The point had ended up being moot, because Dean had forged John's signature in a heartbeat. He'd scolded Sammy, of course, but the kid was so worked up he was barely breathing; Dean didn't have the heart to punish him any more than he had already punished himself.

It took a while to calm Castiel down; much longer than Dean had spent consoling a young Sam. He maintained eye contact, breathing in slow, deep breaths, and finally, Castiel's eyes lost the glazed look they had since they had stopped making out. Tears trailed down the corners of his blue eyes when Castiel finally let go of Dean's arm. Dean flexed his fingers at the release from his vice grip. Dean bit his tongue, ignoring the questions burning in his mind, while Castiel fell back onto the bed, arms coming up to hide his face.

"Dean," Castiel said. He didn't continue, but Dean could hear the shame in the short syllable.

"Cas, listen, it's fine," Dean began, but Castiel made a frustrated noise through his hands and cut him off.

"It's not fine, Dean," Castiel said, tone imploring. Dean shook his head and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Okay, so that was a little intense..." Dean said, and Castiel snorted. He groaned again, reaching up to grab a pillow to burrow further into. "But family ain't perfect Cas. And neither are you, ok? Besides, sure as hell ain't the first time I been on this side of a panic attack and it definitely won't be the last, so don't you worry 'bout it, alright? You're safe."

Castiel brought himself up to his elbows, looking at Dean dubiously for a moment. Then he disappeared just as suddenly, behind his hair and arms, flopping back onto the bed.

"Oh good, it's a family trait," Dean muttered, and Castiel peeked through his hands, eyes narrowed. "What! You're gonna tell me your drama doesn't come from your mama?"

Castiel couldn't help but smile begrudgingly at the poor joke. The corners of Dean's mouth twitched. Castiel sighed.

"I... I want to apologize, but I also want to tell you to get away. I want to tell you to run from this, Dean. You have Sam. You have Bobby, and Ellen, and Jo... This family is poison," Castiel said, eyes wet again and expression sincere. "I'm poison," he added quietly, eyes dropping to his knees.

"Bullshit," Dean said, gaze unwavering and stance wide. "You're not poison, and you know it."

Castiel attempted a smile through his tears, and Dean finally got down onto the bed, crawling close to the man sprawled out on the covers.

"We can't hide in here forever," Dean said quietly. Castiel made a noncommittal noise that sounded suspiciously like disagreement. "If anything, I gotta get back to my memory foam..." Dean added, nudging Castiel. "This place is nice and all, but it's got nothing on that twin mattress back home."

Castiel didn't respond, but he let Dean kiss his temple softly. Dean tried not to let the words Michael had said echo in his brain, but they replayed over and over again anyway.

Wake up, Dean.

You're nothing.

But nothing was worse than the way he had seen Castiel's face change at the words his brother directed at him.

She's using you.

As she should. Trash.

Dean was used to words. They had been thrown at him easily, without a second thought. They had been used to manipulate him, hurt him, cut deep into his self until they had been permanently branded there; until they no longer hurt because the voices became his own, and no one needed to be saying them out loud for Dean to know they were true. So for Michael to say out loud what Dean told his reflection every day was almost boring in its orthodoxy.

But the look on Michael's face when he spat at Castiel; called him trash... Dean had been at a loss. And he had never seen the look of blank fury on Cas' face. It didn't scare or worry him. It was unnerving. It was chilling. Worst of all, it was familiar; it was the permanent expression etched onto Michael's handsome face.

Castiel had told Dean that he and Michael looked the most alike, but he had been wrong. They were both blue eyed and dark haired, but where Michael's eyes held cool malice, Castiel's had always held warmth and kindness. Though blue was supposed to be a wintry colour, the shade of Cas' eyes only ever reminded Dean of summer, of sweet lemonade and honey.

The look in Castiel's eyes had made Dean's stomach roil with anxiety and disgust.

The aftermath was much less alarming, despite what Cas seemed to think. And Dean could easily deal with a thousand panic attacks and semi-permanent mental damage before he would want to see that deep anger in Cas' eyes again.

Dean ran his fingers through Castiel's hair, murmuring nonsense in a soothing voice until Castiel uncovered his face again.

"I know you have questions," Castiel said finally, looking up sheepishly. "And I apologize for indulging in my anger. I did not mean to let my emotions get the best of me, and I am so sorry if you were afraid."

Dean shook his head, rolling his eyes. He pushed the sickened feeling he had felt away in favor of looking into Castiel's clearer eyes.

"I was just scared for you, Cas," Dean said, bringing a hand up to Castiel's face. "Your brother said some fucked up shit in there."

Castiel nodded, smiling bitterly.

"And are we going to talk about how you have a brother named Lucifer? What the fuck, man?" Dean added, and that earned him a small grin.

"Okay," Castiel said, sitting up completely. "I should have told you everything before we got here. I should have given you some context, an idea of what you would be walking into. But I foolishly believed my family would be willing to reconcile, under the circumstances. I thought... Well, I thought things would go differently, to say the least. As it is, I believe I owe you an explanation. So," Castiel met Dean's eyes fully, straightening and adopting a serious expression. "Go ahead, Dean. Ask me anything."

And the words were tumbling out before Dean could stop them.

"So what the actual fuck?" Dean blurted. Castiel bit his lip and covered his face again in shame. Dean seemed to stop himself, taking a breath.

"Wait, let me think about what I want to say first, ok?" Dean said, and Castiel couldn't help his look of surprise. Though he'd only heard of Dean's temper through his own recountings of fights with his little brother, Castiel had been expecting anger, confusion, perhaps a shouting match. Instead, Dean sat in front of him, contemplating his next words carefully. The tension in Castiel's back ratcheted in the silence.

"Okay, let's start with this..." Dean said, looking up and clasping Castiel's hands in his own. Castiel looked down at their joined hands, and back to where Dean's cheeks turned slightly pink. His expression was determined though, and Castiel couldn't help but feel a prickle of apprehension.

Well, in the absolutely worst case, Dean would want to leave him. And Castiel was reasonably sure he would not want to endure a flight home, especially not on his own. So at least there would be time for goodbyes.

Saying goodbye to Dean would likely prove to be difficult. He'd have to touch him one last time to stave himself off for the rest of his life without Dean. He was still reasoning with himself about whether break up make outs were acceptable behaviour, especially if in the position of getting dumped by someone one has yet to have officially dated, when Dean finally spoke.

"What was he like?" Dean asked, tone soft and eyes steady.

Castiel was so surprised by the question that he didn't answer for a moment.

"You mean...?" Castiel asked, after a beat. Dean nodded. "You want to know what my father was like."

Castiel wasn't asking, but Dean nodded in agreement anyway, squeezing his hands. The tension in Castiel's shoulders released slightly, but he was still confused by the turn of topic.

"You don't want to ask me why my family is the way it is, or how rich I am, really, or maybe who that balding man was and why he is here?" Castiel asked, tone suspicious bordering on incredulous. Dean shrugged. "You don't even want to know why my parents named one of their sons Lucifer?"

Dean chuckled softly at that, but shook his head still.

"I mean, yeah, obviously I wanna know all that shit too, Cas," Dean said finally, when Castiel made no motion to respond. "I wanna know everything about you," Dean added, in a voice barely loud enough to hear. Castiel couldn't help the warm feeling that invaded his stomach at those words. "But, yeah, man... Today was shit, and your family is shit, but this is about your dad. And I wanna know what he was like."

"I wouldn't know," Castiel blurted, barely giving Dean the time to finish. Dean's eyebrows shot up, but he kept silent until Castiel continued. "He, uh, left us. When I was six." Dean's expression turned dark, but he squeezed Castiel's hands in solidarity. "I didn't understand it, at the time. I found it difficult because one day he was reading me a bedtime story, voicing out the characters in ridiculous voices and helping me invent our own personal endings; and the next, he was just… gone."

Castiel broke their connection by bringing a hand up to hide his face again. He frowned when he felt tears.

"I thought maybe I had done something," Castiel admitted, his voice breaking on the last word. "But no one would talk about it. Everyone just sort of knew, and somehow I was supposed to know. But I didn't know. I didn't know! All I knew was that I was alone. I'm alone now."

Dean frowned at that and drew Castiel close. Their position was slightly awkward, Castiel's knees bumping against Dean's chest as he enveloped Castiel in his arms completely. Castiel sniffled, feeling ridiculous.

"I," Castiel started, voice muffled by Dean's shirt. He leaned back, taking in a gulp of fresh air before continuing. "I shouldn't be crying over him. He left us years ago. I'm an adult. I made peace with this so long ago, and yet..."

"Shh," Dean said, his hand running through Castiel's long hair. "All I've learned is that there ain't many 'shouldn't's in this world that do much good, so don't you worry your head about those right now. Remember what I said? Free pass, Cas."

Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Castiel couldn't help but let out a small bark of laughter that sounded more like a sob than anything else.

"You're okay," Dean whispered, hands stroking his hair, his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I would... I didn't expect this kind of reaction," Castiel said, pulling away to wipe at his nose. He grimaced, attempting to clear away the snot and tears. "Ugh, I'm repulsive."

Dean huffed at that, taking his hands away so that he could swipe his own sleeve against Castiel's face to clean it up.

"Nah, you're perfect," Dean said. Castiel ducked his head.

"We don't have to keep talking if you don't want to, though," Dean said softly. Castiel looked up and shook his head adamantly.

"No," Castiel protested, reaching out to hold Dean's hands again. "I want to tell you whatever you want to know."

Dean smiled sadly.

"I'll listen to whatever you want to say, baby," Dean said. "I don't need you to explain anything, I just want you to be okay."

Castiel raised an eyebrow at that, and despite his tear stained cheeks, Dean seemed to pale a little at the motion.

"Ok, ok," Dean conceded, holding up a hand. "There's some shit I'm kinda curious about. But I mean, we got time. We can just sleep tonight or whatever you want..."

Castiel shook his head, and looked at him expectantly.

"Okay, fine," Dean said finally. "Why the fuck is your brother's name Lucifer? And follow up: is he the actual devil?"

Castiel chuckled softly at that.

"My mother was highly religious, my parents initially had trouble conceiving... Long story short, Michael was the eldest, and everyone called him the miracle baby; Naomi's very own little angel. So she had called him Michael, God's greatest archangel, because he had been a gift from God in difficult times. When she got pregnant with the next child, she wanted to stay true to the 'angels' theme,. She named her second son Lucifer because he came after a very long and hard labor, at dawn. "Bringer of dawn"," Castiel shrugged. "Lucifer."

Dean grimaced.

"And I cannot prove that he isn't Satan incarnate, so you'd best steer clear of him," Castiel added. Instead of laughing, Dean actually nodded.

"Yeah, I noticed that smug smirk he's got going for him..." Dean said lowly. "Makes me nervous."

When Castiel didn't respond, Dean continued.

"But, uh, not as nervous as Michael..." Dean said, trailing off. He eyed Castiel cautiously, but he only sighed, knowing the topic would arise eventually.

"Yes, well, Michael..." Castiel started, and sighed again. "Michael is a long story."

"We don't have to get into it if you're not up for it. I also have dinner etiquette questions, and I was kinda wondering where Gabriel got his bow tie... the one with the bananas on it that he wore to dinner? I'd totally want to wear that to Sammy's next big event or something. Pretty damn classic," Dean babbled. Castiel smiled gratefully, but waved off his obvious out.

"No, it's quite alright," Castiel said, chuckling a little. "Though I can tell you about the six forks eventually. I had an excellent finishing tutor, back in the day."

"Aren't those for girls?" Dean asked, but Castiel just swatted at his thigh.

"We all went to finishing school, Dean," Castiel reprimanded, feigning solemnity. "As all good gentlemen do, of course."

"Hmm, guess that makes me... not a gentleman," Dean answered. Castiel raised an eyebrow.

"I guess so," Castiel quipped, and was satisfied to see the tops of Dean's ears turn pink.

"So, Michael..." Dean said after a moment. Castiel nodded.

"Yes, well, it might be easier if I first explained the Novak family business, and how we came to be so wealthy, and what keeps up so wealthy after all these years," Castiel said. Dean made a face, and he couldn't help but laugh softly at the grimace. "Don't worry, it won't be a lesson in economics."

"The Novaks came from old money. I'm sure if you traced our family all the way back to its origins, you would likely find the telltale signs of old money that has ridden on the coattails of unfair advantages and racial privileges. I try, still, to accept that there is not much I can do about my past, where I come from, who my family is. It is something I struggle with all the time. I endeavour, every day, to live a life that is simple. I thought... Well, anyway, this isn't about me," Castiel said, smiling wryly. "I was always well off. As a child, I honestly believed that everyone had their private tutors. I was able to choose my subjects, along with those my parents thought should be mandatory. I learned several different languages, I was taught to play the piano , and I was asked to choose a sport so that I might grow into a well rounded young man. It never occurred to me that this was in any way a privilege.

It wasn't until I was much older, in my teen years, that my mother let me interact with other people my age. I was awkward. I had trouble understanding what people thought, understanding that they thought at all. It was like trying to read a book without a light, and I grew frustrated most of the time when talking to teens outside of academic situations. I did not attend secondary school, so I was spared that particular trauma, but I did attend book clubs and social gatherings organized by parents in high society. I didn't like them.

As I grew into adolescence, I fell back on religion to ease my social awkwardness. I started attending bible studies and ascending in the ranks as a leader in our church community. So much so, in fact, that my mother finally gave me context for what exactly the Novak family business was.

As it turned out, we were scam artists. Or at least, that is the conclusion I made from what Naomi vaguely explained about our family holdings. We had started rich, and acquired, merged, and sold smaller companies to become richer. In the grand scheme of things, it was meaningless. It wasn't inherently evil or wrong, just incredibly, incredibly empty. Deciding whether or not companies were sustainable, looking into whether or not companies had good business practices, ethical hiring and workplace norms, or even questioning the aftermath of our hand in helping globalization were all issues that we 'were not concerned with'.

That was when things started to change.

Michael had always been a prominent figure in the company and the church. He was an elder, the CFO, and he regularly spoke on Sundays. But where I had gained modest popularity with young families and newcomers in giving my time to teach Sunday school and sharing what I thought was the core of God's message, Michael had gained respect through his, admittedly sort of harsh, teachings on fearing the Lord and being the best you could be for Him...

Anyway, as you can probably guess, Michael did not take kindly to the fact that I was gaining popularity in the church. We had never been close, really, but when they asked me to speak on Sundays, Michael stopped talking to me almost entirely. I..." Castiel hesitated, looking ashamed. "I liked the attention at first. I agreed to speak in front of the congregation. I led bible studies and did whatever was asked of me at church. I even let Naomi show me the ropes at the business. Everyone was so proud of me. I was proud of myself! But Michael... I supposed he got jealous. He did not take to being put on the sidelines very well.

It was around that time that reports of my "wrongful teachings" began to circulate. I was ignoring the rules, selling people on unconditional divine love like it came without strings attached. I mean, what was I thinking?"

Castiel sighed.

"In the end, it was fitting that Michael was the one to find me with Balthazar. I sometimes wonder if he didn't have a hand in it. Did Balthazar really get the alcohol from his own home, or had someone left the liquor cabinet in our house unlocked that day? Were we really alone in the basement, or had Michael been lying in wait?" Castiel bit his lip. "It seems ridiculous, but I honestly wouldn't put it past him."

"Anyway," Castiel said thoughtfully. "I think... I'm not sure, but both Gabriel and Michael have alluded now to the fact that..."

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"What?" he asked, expression slightly worried.

"It's nothing," Castiel lied. He couldn't be sure just yet, so no sense in worrying Dean. "Does that about cover the freak out Michael had?"

"I mean, sort of... But I didn't even feel like your mom was being especially nice to you. How can this dude get jealous over such a tiny amount of kindness?" Dean said. His eyes widened at the words that had seemingly tumbled out of his mouth without permission. "I mean, sorry, I didn't mean that they weren't nice to you but..."

"No, you're right," Castiel pacified. "You're absolutely right. Naomi was at best a cold mother, but the way she acted tonight... Michael had a right to be shocked. In fact, it's a wonder no one else mentioned it. Naomi had all but disowned me when I left. She had told me I was sullied, permanently, and that though God's forgiveness had no bounds, the way in which I had conducted myself had besmirched me in her eyes and the eyes of our church family forever."

Dean whistled.

"Damn," Dean said quietly.

"Yes," Castiel agreed.

"And all you did was kiss a guy," Dean added thoughtfully. Castiel's mouth twitched with an aborted laugh.

"Imagine if I had met you back then," Castiel said jokingly. Dean looked up at that, the fierceness from earlier back in his eyes.

"It would have been different," Dean said forcefully, his mouth forming a hard line. "I would have made it different."

"Maybe," Castiel conceded, brushing a hand sadly over Dean's knee. "But there is no use in losing sleep over maybes and could bes. What's done is done. I just have to get through the next few days."

"We'll get through the next few days. I promise," Dean said earnestly. Castiel had to look away when he felt the familiar burn in his eyes at that.

Dean patted his knee once and started to get up.

"Alright, enough questions for right now. Let's take a break," Dean suggested. Castiel hummed appreciatively, still sitting with his pulled up to his chest on the bed, his suit rumpled. "A nice hot shower, then cuddles."

Castiel let out a bark of laughter.

"Cuddles?" Castiel asked incredulously, but Dean only sniffed.

"Yep, doctor's orders for a shit day," he said as he stripped off his shirt. But he couldn't hide the blush that spread across the bridge of his nose and the back of his neck. "Don't act like you don't wanna get your hands on all of this," Dean said. It was supposed to be a joke, but Castiel could only hear the insecurity there.

"I won't," he promised, and Dean huffed nervously. Without another word, he head into the bathroom.

"Alright, so," Dean settled in, damp t-shirt sticking to his neck as he positioned himself in bed. "Round two."

Castiel shifted from foot to foot where he stood at the foot of the bed Dean was currently sprawled on. He let the towel he had been using to dry his hair down off his bare shoulders and hesitantly laid a pajama clad knee on the rumpled bedding.

"Don't look so scared," Dean said laughingly. "I woulda thought the worst part's over at this point!"

Castiel grimaced.

"I don't know, Dean," he said, as he moved up towards to where Dean was lying at the head of the bed. Dean patted the space beside him invitingly. "It really depends on what you plan on asking me next..."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Easy throws from here on out, Cas," he said kindly. "No more hardballs."

It was Castiel's turn to roll his eyes.

"Do I seem like the type of person to use sports metaphors?" he asked, humour lacing his question. Dean laughed.

"No, but I thought I'd inject this chick flick moment with some manliness, ok?" he huffed, Castiel sighed as he moved into place beside him.

"I mean, I kinda wanna know more about... You talked about it a bit before but..." Dean was studiously avoiding Castiel's eyes, stumbling over his words. Castiel reached blindly behind him to take his hand in his own and deposit it over his stomach.

"Dean," he said calmly. "I just yelled, cried, and inappropriately made advances on you in the space of a few hours. Please, say anything you want. I doubt it will be as embarrassing as my apparent lack of control on my emotions."

Dean blushed, but chuckled.

"First of all, I don't know about inappropriate..." Dean muttered a few words that sounded suspiciously like "hot as fuck" after that, but quickly rallied. "And second of all, I told you. Not my first time around a panic attack, and it won't be the last." Castiel eyebrow ticked with curiosity, but he kept silent.

"I wanna know more about... about you tellin' your family about liking dudes," Dean said hesitantly. Castiel nodded, grateful for their position as it hid his expression. He saw this question coming, however, and was actually surprised it had only come up now, a month into their quasi-relationship.

"Ok," Castiel replied, smiling. "But it's not very interesting."

"I thought you said you were chased from the house with Bible quotes and threats!" Dean protested.

"Balthazar was chased from the house," Castiel corrects. "I, unfortunately, still had to live there."

"Ah, sorry, guess I wasn't listenin'," Dean said, tensing, but Castiel soothed him with a touch to his knee.

"You were a little preoccupied with your own trouble back then," Castiel responded. "Not to mention the irrestible charm of a new acquaintance," he joked. "Who could blame you for being distracted?" Dean laughed, nodding. "But, as I said, the story is less than exciting... After Balthazar was asked to leave, life became very lonely. I mentioned that I had become quite a prominent figure in the church; it was something I had begun to pride myself upon. I felt powerful when approached with problems or worries from the congregation. My mother revelled in the fact that at last, one of her sons seemed to follow in her husband's footsteps, seeing as she was unable to do so herself..."

"Wait, what?" Dean interrupted.

"Yes, though Naomi was technically a single mother at this point, she did her best to hide that fact from the company and the church body. Everything we owned, the company holdings, the house, everything had remained in my father's name. Being a single mother was not a celebrated matter, especially in the Christian community. In fact, when my father mysteriously disappeared, many people inquired as to whether Naomi was divorced," Castiel made a face at the word, feigning disgust. "And, because of the company's dealings with often very conservative clients, big oil companies, and its ties to the church, Naomi felt it would be best to keep our father's name as CEO and simply act in a managerial capacity until his return."

Dean opened his mouth to ask, but Castiel was already answering.

"No," Castiel said, his tone bitter. "My father was not expected to actually return. But my mother kept up pretenses by having Michael forge my father's signature on forms. Power of attorney was soon transferred to my mother, and the name remained under Charles Novak simply as a formality. one, that of course hid Naomi's greatest shame; the fact that she had been unable to keep a husband, the fact that she was a woman in a position of leadership."

Dean whistled.

"My mom's rolling in her grave right now," he muttered. "It's like the fuckin' nineteen hundreds up in there!"

Castiel hummed in agreement.

"Yes, and it also sheds a bit of light on my uncle's involvement. It is an old custom that a woman in mourning may ask the presence of the nearest, eldest man. In this case, my mother's brother Zachariah. As you probably noticed, he will make a perfect candidate an interim head of the company..." Castiel explained.

"... a head that the neck can turn any way it wants," Dean finished for him. Castiel nodded.

"Though it will all depend on my father and whether or not he left a will," Castiel said thoughtfully. "And from what I can tell, it is likely he did... My mother is probably somewhat upset about her decision to keep her husband's name as CEO."

"Wait, so even though he's been gone for twenty years or whatever, you dad's still gonna be the one calling the shots?" Dean asked. "Damn, that explains the monster bitchface on your mom's face."

Castiel felt Dean tense at the disrespectful words, but he just chuckled.

"No," he said wryly. "Naomi's face is always like that."

Dean laughed outright at that, and buried his smile in Castiel's neck. Castiel curled into the movement, feeling a piece of heaviness lift from his chest at the lengthy confession.

"So, um, you didn't say how you, uh…" Dean started hesitantly, and Castiel brought a palm to his forehead.

"Yes, of course," Castiel responded. "Your original question, I apologize. Well, after the debacle with Balthazar, my responsibilities at the church thinned considerably. Rumors flew, but the official story was that I was concentrating on my career as medical student. I'm not sure anyone believed it. I felt so… unwanted. I made plans to leave the same night Balthazar left. Well," Castiel added, "plans… I tried to find my brother Gabriel, who I remembered had left at a very young age. I was unsurprised to find him running a bar in Lawrence. I was even less surprised when I found out, upon my arrival, that he was running an internet pornography site from the basement of said bar."

"Oh, God," Dean said, his voice full of mirth. "Neither am I, actually. I can't believe I spent so many years in Lawrence, haunting the local bars, and I never saw him."

"Well, to be fair, you probably did, but you don't remember," Castiel responded. "It's not like you meet the owner of every bar you go to, after all."

Dean snorted.

"Kid like me? You kinda do," he said. He shrugged his shoulders.

"This feels like a hotel. I was about to suggest we order room service," Dean said after a moment of silence. Castiel hummed thoughtfully.

"We could probably ring the chef..." he said, checking the time on his phone from his pocket. "It's still early."

"Are you fucking serious?" Dean asked incredulously. Castiel shrugged.

"Like I said," he replied. "Very wealthy."

"Well, fuck yeah! Let's get some room service," Dean said, kissing Castiel's shoulder and reaching somewhat excitedly for the remote.

"I take it the interrogation is over then?" Castiel replied amusedly. Dean nodded, flipping through the channels on the TV perched incongruously on the antique high table to the right of the foot of the bed.

"Well, I do have one more serious question," Dean said suddenly, flipping the television back off and turning so that he could look Castiel in the eye. Castiel bit his lip. "How are you?"

Castiel blushed, thrown by the sincerity in Dean's voice. The man seemed to switch easily from teasing and flippant to serious and heartfelt. It kept catching Castiel unawares.

"Oh," he said, unsure of the answer.

"You don't have to have an answer. No fuckin' clue seems like a pretty valid response at this point, if you're askin' me," Dean said, as if reading Castiel's mind. "But I just wanna know that you know... that you're not alone."

Dean squeezed the arm that was draped over Castiel's back at the rushed words, and Castiel could see the red staining his neck.

"Thank you," Castiel said quietly, and set about leaning over to find the phone.

"What do you want for dinner?" he asked, finger poised to dial on the ancient rotary phone now in his lap. Dean rubbed his hands together in excitement.

"What's on the menu?" he asked, enthused. Castiel chuckled.

"There's no menu, Dean," he laughed, and Dean regarded him with wide eyes. "You just decide whatever you want and the chef will probably be able to make it. As long as it isn't anything completely ridiculous, of course."

Dean's eyes widened further. Castiel smiled, genuinely amused at the unabashed joy written on Dean's face. He was a kid in a candy store.

"Oh man," he said, screwing his face up in concentration. "Oh man..."

Castiel mimicked the sound of a clock ticking.

"Who knows how late the chef will stay tonight... I'd be willing to bet the kitchen staff is cleaning up as we speak..." Castiel said teasingly, and Dean's face turned to an expression of fear.

"Wait! Don't rush me!" he pleaded, and Castiel shook his head, laughing.

Eventually, Dean chose a meal, and was delighted to hear that the chef had no microwave popcorn but would be willing to make him fresh popped corn if he desired it ("I do desire that, thank you!" he had said, killing himself giggling). Castiel himself asked only for a simple fruit plate. And after Dean had finished his steak, Castiel shared the platter with Dean, who blushed a delicious shade of red as he was handfed the sweet dessert.

Thankfully, the next morning was calm. The Novaks apparently agreed to let the ugliness of the night before go, or at least sit in tenuous silence at the dinner table for breakfast. Dean was happy to find that Naomi simply ignored him. Lucifer, on the other hand, spent the entire meal makes innuendos out of fruit ("Mmh, this banana is firm," he had said innocently. "Don't you think it's firm, Castiel? It's hard.") which Dean had tried his best not to comment on. The entire ordeal was petty surreal, and by the time he was finished his bagel, he was more than ready to retreat to Castiel's room until the funeral. After a final reminder of the time and place, Naomi approved that the boys take their leave.

Dean flopped onto the bed, dramatically sighing and closing his eyes. Castiel seemed to be deep in thought, though, so he had to pat the space beside him to get his attention.

"What's up, buttercup?" Dean asked, then winced. "Sorry," he added, when Castiel tilted his head then smiled.

"Didn't you listen to what my mother was saying at the table?" Castiel asked. Dean looked slightly sheepish.

"Uh, I kinda tuned out after she said that thing about how working in mechanics was a poor man's job or whatever," Dean said, shrugging. Castiel stayed standing, brow furrowed in thought.

"First of all, she merely pointed out the salary differences of an educated mechanic, with a bachelor's degree in mechanical engineering, for example, and one that has only a highschool diploma..." Castiel answered, and Dean frowned.

"Or a GED," he muttered. Castiel's face lost its expression of contemplation immediately.

"Dean, I didn't mean you," he corrected quickly, but Dean was already smiling wryly.

"Nah, don't sweat it, Cas," he said. Castiel crouched down to the bed so that he was crawling up Dean's body.

"I didn't mean you," Castiel insisted, placing a kiss through the Metallica shirt Dean was sporting. "I just meant... well... You have to admit there are financial advantages to getting a degree. Not to mention the fact that I bet you would like more than just studying mechanical engineering. You could take literature classes!"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Cas, you know that's not me," Dean said. "I ain't a brainiac like you and Sammy..."

Castiel shook his head grabbing Dean's hands in his own.

"You are smart, Dean. And no amount of your ridiculous negativity will change the fact that I saw your book collection in that room," Castiel replied haughtily. "An unintelligent person wouldn't have such a battered copy of Slaughterhouse Five, I assure you."

"I bought it used..." Dean mumbled, but Castiel ignored him.

"I bet you would like college," he continued. "You know there are fraternities where in order to be a part of them you must participate in competitions for drinking copious amounts of alcohol?"

Dean chuckled a little at that.

"Yeah, Cas," he answered. "I know about those."

"Well, then," Castiel said, missing the mocking tone. "There you go."

Dean rolled his eyes but let it slide, choosing to nuzzle into Castiel's neck instead of arguing with him.

"So..." Dean said.

"Right. My mother," Castiel said. "She was talking about the will, about the company and who should take over."

"I thought good old Uncle Zach was gonna be faking that now..." Dean replied.

"Yes, but according to the company rules, he can only do so for a short period of time. It's complicated, but it seems my father may have left specific instructions for us on who would be in charge of the company in the event of his death."

Dean raised both eyebrows and Castiel felt his arms tighten around him.

"I assume Michael will be named, as he is the most logical choice. But Naomi seemed to be under the impression that I would be receiving something from my father's will too. She had planned for it to be read to us tonight, after the funeral, so that we could all deal with whatever plan our father left us..." Castiel trailed off, biting his lip.

"Oh," Dean said intelligently. Castiel burrowed further into his warmth.

"Of course, even if I am named, I probably will not wish to stay here and take on the family business..." Castiel said.

"Well, I don't know, Cas," Dean said uncertainly. "Think about all that money. Think about what kinda power that could get you."

"Exactly," Castiel said, firmer now. "That kind of power and wealth... I've seen what it does to people. And I much prefer my lemonade and honey to mergers and suits."

"But, Cas, think about what you could do with all that power!" Dean continued. "You could change everything about the way the company runs. You could make it so that it isn't so shit. You could change stuff, like world stuff..."

Castiel just shook his head, huffing an incredulous breath.

"It is unlikely that my father has named me. He left when I was six years old!" Castiel argued. "Michael had already become a prominent figure in the church at the time. It would make much more sense that my father picked him. Besides, even if I inherit this monster of a company... I don't know the first thing about running a company! It would be a disaster. No."

"There are people who help you with that kinda stuff, Cas," Dean responded. "No one knows what they're doing, that's why shit like boards and committees exist!"

"Even worse! Dealing with high powered executives in suits and stingy boards? Not a chance," Cas said. Dean rolled his eyes, slumping a little in bed. "I would really prefer it if we just dropped this. I don't know why I brought it up, but it is not something I would like to discuss further. It is ridiculous. I am, quite frankly, surprised my mother even mentioned the possibility."

"Well," Dean started, and Castiel made a disapproving noise at the back of his throat.

"Calm down, let me finish!" Dean protested. "I was gonna say... You would look great in a suit, bossing people around."

Castiel snorted.

"Hmm," he said. "There are ways that can be arranged without taking over a multinational company."

"Promise?" Dean asked.

Castiel turned around to kiss his lips in answer.

The funeral was slow, even for a traditional service. Dean had to suppress several yawns, and Castiel elbowed him in the ribs twice. He felt sort of bad, but from what Castiel had told him, his father probably wouldn't have wanted any of this formality. Though Naomi's eulogy painted him as a rock for their family, flowery words describing a man so committed to his job and his faith that he rarely had time for his own family, Dean suspected the context of his death was less than respectable. This feeling was solidified when a family member behind him whispered something about prostitues in Delaware. Dean nearly chuckled at that, but held it together for Castiel's sake.

Once the casket, closed, of course, was sent off in the hearse, Dean and Cas dutifully followed the family in the rental car to the graveyard.

"Sorry about, uh..." Dean said uncomfortably when Castiel sat behind the wheel stiffly.

"Giggling and yawning through that service?" Castiel finished for him. Dean winced.

"Yeah, sorry, I know this is a terrible time, but..." Dean trailed off, mentally berating himself for his insensitivity, especially when Cas' knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.

"I know your family probably thought that I was some kinda... I dunno..." Dean tried again, but Castiel cut him off.

"I don't particular give a fuck about what my family thought," Castiel said, and turned sharply towards Dean so that he could see his eyes were blazing. "That ceremony was a farce. It was just more proof that my family had never really known my father..." He turned back to the road. "More proof that I was the only one," he said quieter.

Dean lifted his hand to place it on Cas' knee.

"Tell me about what your dad's funeral shoulda been, Cas," he said gently. Castiel sighed and brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He sniffled.

"I don't know. Cremation. Spreading his ashes along the path John Steinbeck might have taken up to the Redwoods? Burning his body along with 30 copies of Jane Austen's best?" Castiel rolled his eyes. "He always had a flair for the dramatic -don't say it- so he would probably at least appreciate that. But the fanfare today? The pallbearers being his brothers instead of his children? Anna not even included in the ceremony? My father left us, he had his own problems and he clearly wasn't an example... But he was more than those dry words and memorized verses. At least... I don't know. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe I am simply romanticizing what I cannot know. Maybe I'm projecting..."

Dean squeezed his thigh, but stayed silent. Who was he to confirm or deny any of that? How many times had Dean wondered if his fears and worries were his own or just those passed down by an alcoholic absentee father who didn't give a shit about his kids? How many times had Dean defended his father- he still did at times, convincing himself that John had been doing his best. Had he? Or had Dean been doing his best for him? The questions were endless and pointless, and Dean knew that there was no real answer. If Castiel was coming to terms with that now, the best Dean could think to do was to be here for him. Or be on a road trip to the Redwoods. Or be at the graveyard spitting on his fresh grave two days from now. Dean wasn't judgmental and he wasn't above desecrating burial grounds. Especially not if it meant Castiel could feel better.

What a pair they both made.

The drive was slow going. The funeral procession had a police escort because of its size. Dean could see Castiel gritting his teeth at the parade of distant and unaffected relatives in front of them. Dean just tried his best to emulate the cool and calm Castiel always gave to him at his worst. Dean just thought of the way Castiel's presence had been a balm on his most anxious nights, how he seemed to just exude patience and steadfastness when Dean needed it the most, so that he had no choice but to let it permeate his heated thoughts, no choice but to come down to Cas' level. It worked, for most of the funeral and the drive. And when they got out and listened to the pastor place his blessings on the grave site and coffin, when Castiel's teeth ground so hard that Dean could hear it standing beside him, Dean kept a steady and inappropriate commentary about the most lurid and crude details he could to describe the priest, a relative, a stuffy looking "friend" of the family. That seemed to work too, judging by the way Castiel's mouth twitched between scowls.

Though it was only six o'clock when they returned to the Novak home, Dean was exhausted. Unfortunately, being a supportive boyfriend didn't have much reprieve because the moment he set foot in the door, three maids helped him shrug off his heavy suit jacket, and a butler had a plate of hors-d'oeuvres in his face.

"Ah, no, Frank," came Naomi's voice behind him. "Not for him. The actual guests are behind us though."

Oh. Oh. There was a reception to attend now.

"At least that means she no longer considers you a guest!" Castiel muttered bitterly. "Welcome to the family," he said, a little too loudly to be missed. Naomi ignored the comment, however, and directed her maids to the kitchen. The lobby was already buzzing with activity. It seemed the day was far from over. Dean sighed and looked longingly at the staircase that led to the large and inviting bed he knew he could be sharing with Castiel.

"Don't worry," Castiel said, as they moved past a table laden with food. "We won't have to stay long."

"Really?" Dean said, a little too excited. "Sorry," he added, wincing. Castiel shook his head, the permanent scowl on his face lessening a little.

"Of course not," he said matter-of-factly. Then he brightened considerably. "There is the will to be read."

Right. The will.

As it turned out, the reading of the will was just a term used in movies to create some kind of tension or drama for the plot. The real life scenarios had Dean and Cas ushered into a sitting room off the lobby of the enormous Novak estate by Naomi, along with the rest of the family. They sat as she distributed a copy of the will to every family member, pointedly ignoring Dean's presence altogether, and turned expectantly towards Gabriel.

"What?" he asked blithely. Naomi frowned and gestured to the papers in his hands. "Oh, come on, mother. It's unnecessary, we can all read!"

Naomi rolled her eyes and Dean glanced around in confusion as all that was heard was the shuffling of papers. He nudged Cas, expression uncertain.

"So…" he whispered. Castiel shook his head and pointed to the paper. Dean read over his shoulder.

I, Charles Novak, an adult residing at 4 Leicester road, Kenilworth, IL, being of sound mind, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament. I revoke all wills and codicils previously made by me.

ARTICLE I

I appoint Gabriel Novak as my Personal Representative to administer this Will, and ask that he be permitted to serve without Court supervision and without posting bond. If Gabriel Novak is unwilling or unable to serve, then I appoint Lucifer Novak to serve as my Personal Representative, and ask that he be permitted to serve without Court supervision and without posting bond.

ARTICLE II

I direct my Personal Representative to pay out of my residuary estate all of the expenses of my last illness, administration expenses, all legally enforceable creditor claims, all Federal estate taxes, state inheritance taxes, and all other governmental charges imposed by reason of my death without seeking reimbursement from or charging any person for any part of the taxes and charges paid, and if necessary, reasonable funeral expenses, including the cost of any suitable marker for my grave, without the necessity of an order of court approving said expenses…

Dean skimmed the words, searching for key terms like "beneficiaries" or "Cas gets all my shit" or whatever. He honestly hadn't a clue as to how these proceedings usually worked. His knowledge from movies and TV had failed him, so he did his best to keep up. Unfortunately, it seemed Castiel had already found what he had been looking for, because suddenly the pages were being blocked from Dean's view and folded in half. The murmurs and sharp intakes of breath from both Michael and Lucifer also indicated some sort of decision or shocking verdict, but Dean hadn't any idea of what it meant. Mentally shrugging, he put his hand on Cas' knee. Castiel didn't look up, but Dean ignored the feeling of rejection in favor of concentrating on his self imposed challenge of being like Cas. Calm. Soothing.

"Did your dad donate his money to a bunch of strippers or something?" Dean muttered under his breath.

Well, not exactly like Cas.

Castiel shook his head, but the concerned frown dissipated a little and his mouth twitched tellingly. Dean counted it as a victory.

"I believe we have all finished-" Naomi started, but Gabriel tsked loudly, interrupting her. He held up a finger, bringing it down to lick and turn the final page, and then back up in the air in front of him. He raised his eyebrows dramatically, eyes still glued to the papers in front of him.

"Oh for goodness sake, Gabriel, you're the executor! We know you've read it already," Naomi said, and for some reason her impatience made him smile. Even though Dean had never known Castiel's father, he had a feeling he probably got along with Gabriel. And that there was a reason Gabriel left home in his late teens.

Gabe just winked at Dean, eyes darting up to meet his for a moment, before studiously ignoring his mother so he could finish pretend reading. He gasped, loudly, at something written on the page and looked up to the room as if everyone was not waiting for his verdict.

"Oh my heavens! Can you believe it?" Gabriel cried, much too loud for the silent study. Lucifer chuckled softly. Michael glared and huffed.

"Get on with it," he said, cold eyes looking almost bored in the dim light.

"Michael, this is a very delicate time," Gabriel said, smirk firmly in place, but a look from Naomi had him rolling his eyes. "Fine, fine. So as you all just read, you know what has been allotted to each of you. The inheritances and estate will be separated by the Novak team of lawyers in the next couple of months, taking into account legal fees and taxations of course, blah blah blah. Old dad gave his worldly possessions to his wife, the estate is equally divided between his boys, and, inexplicably, the Lincoln to Cassie! You all know that if one of you wants to buy the estate in full, you just have to shell out the cash to each of us for our parts."

Gabriel folded his hands. Dean made to get up, but the atmosphere remained tense, as if something had been left unsaid.

Naomi cleared her throat.

"The decision on fulfilling Charles' duties as CEO must be made within the allocation of three months stated by the will," she said, and looked to Michael and Castiel in turn.

"The decision will be made within a few weeks, I assure you," Castiel said, making Dean jump. He turned to his boyfriend questioningly, but Castiel was looking at Naomi still. "I wish to discuss this matter with my partner, but I will deliver my answer within the week."

With that, Castiel rose to leave, pulling Dean by the arm. He gave a bewildered look to the room and had only enough time to see Michael's glowering expression before Castiel was whisking him past the lingering people in the lobby at the reception and up the stairs to their shared room.

Once safe in the confines of their bedroom, Castiel dropped the papers onto an ornate armchair beside the main dresser and turned to embrace Dean. He hummed in appreciation when Dean reflexively put his arms around Castiel's waist.

"Thank you," Castiel murmured, closing his eyes and resting his forehead onto Dean's. Dean shrugged.

"It was nothing," he said, and meant it literally. He hadn't done much today, besides make inappropriate jokes and wish he could do more. Castiel just shook his head, massaging Dean's shoulders a little, before letting go and flopping face first into the bed.

"I have to explain, I know," Castiel said into the pillow. Dean chuckled.

"I'd say no, free pass still standing and all, but…" Dean flopped down beside him so that he could turn his face to a mess of dark hair. "I'd appreciate a little more info, yeah."

Castiel sighed.

"I take it you're next in line for the family business?" Dean asked. Castiel turned over so he could look him in the eye.

"Yes," he said quietly. Dean didn't say anything.

"Do you…?" he asked, unsure of how he would finish the question. Do you think you'll accept? Do you want to? Are you going to stay?

Castiel looked down for a moment. Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Castiel looked back up and his expression was so lost that Dean couldn't find it in him to be angry, no matter what the answer would be to his unasked question.

"I don't know," he said, voice breaking. Well, it's not a yes… Dean thought. Cas looked down again, as if ashamed. Dean put a hand on his shoulder.

"Okay," Dean said. Because what else could he have said? Don't. Stay. I need you? Castiel had an opportunity to change the world here, and Dean was stuck worrying about the next few months - what would happen when Sammy left? Or when his dad… Castiel looked up again, surprised, distracting Dean from his thoughts. Dean shrugged, and smiled lopsidedly.

"Yeah?" Castiel asked. And the word was so informal that Dean couldn't help but grin, eyes pricking at his signature phrase coming from Cas' mouth.

"Yeah," Dean answered. Castiel bit his lip, a soft smile playing across his lips.

Then, Castiel was springing up from their embrace without warning, leaving a confused and disgruntled Dean clutching at air, eyes half closed in preparation for a kiss.

"Hey!" Dean said. But Castiel didn't respond, reaching instead for his phone. He hunched over the screen, sitting up in the large bed, ignoring Dean's petulant look.

"Who're you texting?" Dean asked finally, tone a little jealous. Castiel shook his head, still tapping away at his phone. "Seriously, dude?" Dean grumbled. Castiel continued to ignore him. "We were having a moment there…" Dean muttered. At that Castiel looked up, apology written in his eyes despite the faded smile still etched on his face.

"You're right. I apologize, Dean," Castiel said, crawling back to him, phone still clutched in both hands. "I was just cancelling our flights."

Dean frowned for a moment. Were they staying longer? Did Castiel need more time? Their flight had been scheduled for the next day, but maybe Cas had changed his mind? Or maybe… Dean's eyes widened. Was this Castiel's answer? He hadn't expected the man to make a decision so fast, but was Castiel going to stay in Kenilworth? Wait, had he said our?

Dean opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Castiel must have seen the rising panic in Dean's eyes at his words because he hastened to clarify.

"Well, seeing as my father gave me his vehicle, I thought maybe, instead of flying, we might drive home?" Castiel asked tentatively. It took a moment for it to register for Dean.

"And maybe, if you had some time, we could take a small detour… Des Moines used to have a festival this time of year, if I remember correctly. It showcased different types of bacon, I believe…" Castiel trailed off, voice hopeful.

Dean stared at him, open mouthed.

"Did you just ask me if I wanted to go on a road trip with you, with a pit stop at a bacon festival?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"Only if you… I mean, I would really appreciate the extra time with you. When you're around, it seems less… I feel more… more…" Castiel bit his lip again, expression bashful. "I feel more in control of all this," he finished in a breath.

The initial excitement in Dean's chest turned to an ache, fondness leaking into his eyes when he looked Castiel in the eye.

"Fuck yeah, Cas, I wanna go on a bacon festival road trip with you," Dean said, soft tone in contrast with the flippant words. Castiel smiled, one of his full smiles, his nose scrunching up and his gums on display. He was gorgeous.

"We'll leave tomorrow," Cas promised, and kissed Dean full on the mouth. His hands tugged a little at Dean's hair before letting go, his expression happy, despite the stain of sadness ever present since the news of his father's death. Dean silently vowed to keep a smile on Castiel's face as long as he was around.

"Can't wait," Dean replied.

It wasn't until they were setting their alarms to get an early start the next day that Dean realized he had let the battery on his phone die. He cursed, immediately garnering the attentions of a concerned boyfriend, before explaining the situation and plugging his phone in, fingers tapping impatiently on the side of the bed while the tiny light flashed red. While Cas got ready for bed, taking off his dress pants and suit jacket to replace them by a pair of worn out flannel pants, Dean mentally berated himself for forgetting to charge his phone. He couldn't remember the last time he had done that. Well, perhaps that wasn't true. He did his best to block out the consequences of forgetting to charge his phone the last time it happened, but in the heat of the moment it was coming back to him in Technicolor.

Dean had still been working for Alastair at the time. His phone was a burner, one kept only for Alastair. No one knew the number, not that anyone needed to anyway. The only people Dean knew where Alastair and his cronies - none of whom he desired to spend any more time than necessary with. The rest of the people Dean saw were mostly Johns, and what a goddamn perfect name for these assholes, Dean would after a particularly rough blowjob. What beautiful quirk of the world would have Dean kneeling for a faceless stranger for cash, calling him his father's own name? It was too much for him to even consider. As it was, however, Dean had forgotten to charge his phone. He'd been in a rush to transfer money to Bobby for Sam, so he had forgotten to plug it in at the cheap motel Alastair had put him up in. Up all night, he had stayed awake way into the day in order to do the bank transfer, and the patience that had already been running thin at the line at the teller's dried up with the lack of a mini bar at the shitty motel. They never stayed for too long in one place. Dean got the feeling Alastair wasn't just touring Dean's "cocksucker lips" around the Midwest, but probably was involved with some kind of drugs, but he kept his mouth shut unless someone was paying, so their partnership went okay most of the time. Except, Dean found out it wasn't much of a partnership when he was being woken up at night from an "afternoon nap" he had accidentally taken before his clients of the night.

Alastair had booked them in advance, those were the best customers. Most of the time the sleazy ones came to Dean, in his motel room, sent by Alastair or one of the burly men that followed Alastair around like overgrown bulldogs. So Dean had been a little disappointed; in himself, for forgetting to set an alarm and letting his battery power down, but also in the prospect of Alastair's probable disappointment. Dean was nothing if not a people pleaser; quite literally, a lot of the time.

And maybe he should have left, when Alastair showed up at the motel around nine in the evening, his crony standing tall behind him, stroking a wooden bat. Maybe Dean should have run, from the gleam in Alastair's eye at the prospect of hurting Dean for losing him money, for wasting his time, from the life of not only a prostitute, but a hooker beaten by his own pimp. But Dean didn't run. He didn't bother. Because he felt like he deserved it. Alastair had taken one look at Dean Winchester, and he had figured out what so many seemed to be fooled by every day. What Cas still seemed to be completely unable or unwilling to see: Dean Winchester wasn't good or even charming. Dean Winchester was trash, who left his father because he couldn't be what he wanted Dean to be; who left his brother because he couldn't bring himself to tell him why his dad couldn't look him in the eye anymore; who accepted a ticket out of town from a skeezy old man, knowing what he was getting into, but ready to do whatever it took to get by, get out. Dean Winchester was a whore. He was nothing. And Alastair knew that; had always known it; had seen it in Dean's eyes like the sun in the sky.

So Dean had found out what kind of partnership he and Alastair had. He hadn't let his battery power down since then.

Finally, finally, the phone was able to amass enough energy to wink into life again, and Dean glared impatiently while the screen loaded.

"23 missed calls, 11 messages," the screen read. Dean swore again.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asked, voice carefully level. Dean winced.

"I forgot to tell my brother I was leaving the state..." Dean said, Castiel shot up in bed.

"Dean!" he growled, punching his arm. Dean sighed.

"I know, I know," he said, checking through the messages as he spoke. Most of them read about the same thing, "where are you?", "what the fuck, Dean?", though they increased in urgency and concern as the day wore on. Dean punched in the numbers to Sam's phone. "I'm gonna call him back, you want me to-" Dean gestured to the bathroom, but Castiel shook his head, falling back down to hit the pillow. Dean absentmindedly stroked his hair. The phone rang in his ear.

"What the actual fuck, Dean? You better not be in a goddamn bar because I swear to God I will-"

"What, no hello?" Dean asked weakly, interrupting his brother's rant.

"Hey, Dean!" Sam said brightly, and Dean believed for a second that he wasn't still mad, just relieved to have heard from his fuckup brother. But then, "FUCK. YOU." Dean nodded at no one.

"I know, I know, I suck," Dean said, holding up his hand. Sam, unaware of his gesture, just kept talking. Dean caught words like "irresponsible" and "thought you were fucking dead". Finally, the anger subsided and Sam asked where exactly Dean was.

"I'm in Illinois," Dean answered, and Sam huffed. "And I am sorry. I just lost track of time. Cas needed me."

Sam had a hard time responding to that, choosing just to snarl unhappily. Dean silently agreed with him. One month in, and Dean was already forgetting his brother. Eye on the prize, you motherfucking piece of shit, Dean chastised himself. Give me an inch, I'll be a selfish sonuvabitch...

"Listen," Sam said after a moment, and his voice softened slightly. "I know... I know Cas' been dealing with some stuff, okay? I know it's not a good time... But Dean. You gotta tell me when you fucking leave. You can't do that to me again. Especially not right now..."

Dean counted to ten so that he was sure his voice wouldn't waver when he answered.

"I know. I'm sorry, Sammy. I messed up," Dean said lowly. Sam sighed on the line.

"It's fine, I was just so fucking worried... I thought, after our last conversation that maybe..." Sam trailed off, voice breaking. The sound nearly physically hurt Dean. "The last time you walked out, I didn't think I'd see you again."

Dean bit his lip until he tasted blood. The pain at least distracted him from the words Sam was saying. God, he was right. Dean had been so caught up in Cas, so distracted by his own selfish needs that he had forgotten what was best for Sammy. He'd forgotten the one most important mission his father had given him: take care of Sammy.

"I'm a piece of shit, I know," Dean replied wearily, wishing he could punch himself in the mouth. Sam made a noise of disapproval though.

"It's not that, Dean," he protested. "I'm happy you're with Cas. I'm happy you have something for you. God knows you never let yourself have anything good in life if you can help it... Seriously, I was thrilled these past few weeks. But, Dean, this news from the hospital, and then forgetting to fix my car?"

Dean winced at the fresh reminder of his failure as an older brother. He briefly considered cancelling the upcoming road trip, but decided against it when he glanced over at Cas, who was clearly pretending to read a home and garden magazine. He couldn't disappoint Cas, not when the look on his face at Dean's proposal had rivaled that of a four year old at an ice cream truck.

"Shit! Sammy, fuck, I forgot... What did you-?" Dean asked tentatively.

"It's fine, Dean. Bobby brought the tow truck over and got it fixed within the hour. It's not about that, Dean," Sam was saying, as Dean mentally calculated the labour costs of fixing suspension and ball joints. "It's just... Dad used to keep stuff from us. You used to, too, when it got bad. I thought we were over this, Dean. I wanted us to be a family again."

Of course. Sammy was always good at pulling the family card, especially when it was convenient. Though Dean didn't doubt Sam meant it, he also knew the guilt Dean would feel at being compared to their absent-at-best father. Dean grit his teeth, trying to remain level headed, at least for Cas' sake. Dean had rarely had a fight with Sam with witnesses other than their father, and he was not about to start tonight.

"We're family. And I told you why I'd done what I'd done, alright? It's none of your goddamn business what goes on at that hospital 'cos you're supposed to be busy preparing for Stanford. Don't let dad's fucked up life ruin your chance at a normal one. Okay, Sammy?" Dean said, attempting to soften the last few words as they tumbled gruffly out of his mouth. "You worry about those grades and college parties and let me worry 'bout our dad. We still got time."

"We don't, actually," Sam interrupted.

"What do you mean? I been paying the fucking bills, 'course we got time. It's paid 'til the end of July, for Christ's sake!" Dean said, voice rising a bit in worry.

"Yeah, but the hospital's been calling about it, Dean. They say there's no point. They say we should be looking for a will in that house and making decisions," Sam replied. Dean scoffed.

"They just want a bed. Damn bloodsuckers. They're trying to bleed us dry and kick us out before we got what we paid for. Sammy, I told you, it's best to let me take care of 'em. You just gotta ignore all their talk about budget and turnover..." Dean was saying, but Sam interrupted him again.

"Okay... But Dean, have you thought about the fact that they've got a point?" Sam asked slowly.

"What? 'Course they don't!" Dean was quick to reply. "You sayin' you wanna listen to 'em? You sayin' you're just gonna take action tonight or something?" The battle to keep his voice level was being lost by the second. Dean swore he saw Cas' eyebrow twitch as he turned a page of his magazine, but Dean dutifully ignored it.

"Of course not. I wouldn't do that without discussing with you first. But you gotta admit, Dean, they make a valid argument. Dad's basically dead. There's nothing there, the doctors have said as much. We might as well give that bed to someone who needs it..."

"Whatever, Sam. You clearly already know what you wanna do, so just do it. What are you even calling me for?" Dean asked.

"Dean, that's not what I meant. I know this is hard for you... You were always closer to Dad than I was," Sam replied. Dean huffed.

"Yeah, you're right. I was his favourite - must've been why he was always dressin' my skin up in black and blue," Dean said, but the joke fell flat. Dean felt Cas tense where he stared at his magazine.

"I just meant... You spent more time with him, so I know it's probably hard for you to say goodbye," Sam said earnestly, ignoring Dean's humorless remark.

"Well, see, that's where you're wrong, Sammy! I just been waitin' for you to get your ass across the country. I didn't wanna distract you from your big plans with your deadbeat family's problems. But listen, it sounds like I was wrong. Go ahead! Do whatever the fuck you want! I gotta go anyway," Dean said. "I won't be home for another two days, so call off the dogs and don't worry 'bout me."

"Fine," Sam replied, voice tense but accepting,

"Fine," Dean answered, not to be outdone.

Dean hung up before he could hear anything else.

Castiel was waiting patiently in bed, nose still stubbornly stuck in that damn magazine, when Dean put the phone down on the nightstand. He looked up, eyebrow slightly raised, but silent, when Dean flopped back against the pillows. Unfortunately, his tired motion was misjudged, and his head hit the headboard instead. Castiel dropped the magazine and had his hands on Dean's head before Dean finished cursing his day, his week, his life. Soon Dean found himself lounging up against Castiel's chest as the man rubbed circles into his skull and the back of his neck. He felt a twinge of caution at just how comfortable and safe he felt in such a domestic situation with a guy he met a month ago, but he ignored it in favor of closing his eyes and listening to Castiel hum a tune he didn't recognize.

"So what are we in for tomorrow, Cas?" Dean said, his voice coming out a little lower than expected because of how relaxed he felt.

"What do you mean? I assumed you still wanted to return to your place by vehicular transport?" Castil asked uncertainly. "Unless, of course, your conversation with Sam changed things..."

Dean sighed. His conversation with Sam probably should have changed his mind about taking his time to get back to Lawrence, but it actually had had the opposite effect. He thought about the papers he'd filed away behind the toaster in his dad's place, about the smell of the hospital the last time he had been in there to confront his father, to try to make sense of what was happening... Leaning up against Cas, far away from all that baggage, was just so... liberating. Despite the dark circumstances, Dean was happy to have shared this time with Castiel, to have been privileged to get to know the man better. Now that he knew exactly how brave Castiel had been, how much he had fought to stay in his community despite his differences, how he'd grown up so alone, but still found the courage to be himself. Well, Dean was damn proud. It just further proved his theory that Castiel was way too good for him.

So, maybe it should have changed his plans to hear Sammy concerned, to hear him angry about how Dean was dealing with their dad's coma. But it didn't. Because Dean could live in the moments when Castiel's hand brushed his, when he touched his soft, dry lips to Dean's and whispered things Dean couldn't hear into his skin. Dean could forget the rest if it meant listening to Castiel talk about how public funded radio was so important, Dean and watch him dutifully organize their travel documents in a folder "for safekeeping". He shook his head.

"No, no... He just... Sammy wanted to, uh," Dean started, but Castiel just continued stroking his arm.

"It's alright, Dean," he said quietly before Dean had a chance to finish. "You don't have to tell me."

Dean sagged a little in Castiel's arms.

"I was just asking about the goodbyes. Should I be wearing a particular colour shirt, or do goodbyes usually go over pretty average in the Novak household?" Dean asked, changing the subject.

"Ah yes, well, it would preferable if you could wear red tomorrow morning, as they will be expecting us to perform the parting ceremonies," Castiel said, voice bored. "And red signifies great passion. Seeing as we have abstained from lovemaking, we will be unable to show my mother the soiled sheets of our union. Evenso, I would like my family to know of our unbridled passion. So I think the red would be a good way to appropriately demonstrate our partnership."

Dean slowly turned his head so that he could see Castiel's face.

The bastard was grinning.

"You fucker," Dean said, grabbing the pillow out from under Cas and holding it over his head. "You little fucker!"

Castiel was giggling as he tried to gain the upper hand by swiping at Dean's dress shirt. He caught a handful of his tie, instead, and yanked at that hard enough that Dean nearly choked. Not to be outdone, Dean pulled at the covers tangled around Castiel's middle and attempted to get his hands on bare skin in order to pinch. Yelping in a very masculine fashion that Castiel would later deny, the other man finally got a hold of Dean's shirt and pulled.

They were both stunned as a loud RRRRIPPP! filled the room, followed by the sound of several buttons plinking on furniture as they flew from Dean's torn shirt. They didn't have time to consider the damage before the silky covers began to slip against the equally smooth sheets where their bodies were precariously perched on the edge of the bed.

"Cas!" Dean had time to cry, right before Castiel's arm shot out to grab Dean's left arm in an attempt to stop his fall from the large bed.

Then, as if in slow motion, Dean watched himself and Cas grapple for some kind of grip on the gaudy material of the soft bed in vain until they finally tumbled gracelessly onto the floor in a large, paisley patterned heap.

Somehow, a bedsheet had become tangled in Dean's grip and ended up on top of them both. Two pillows had been pulled down with them too, and Dean had lost his shirt. They lay on the ground, surrounded by most of their bedding, staring at each other.

Castiel was the first to break.

As soon as the small giggle had escaped his pressed lips, the floodgates were open and Dean was soon joining along in hysterical laughter. And Dean just sat there, staring into Castiel's blue eyes, his face scrunched up in laughter so that his nose wrinkled and his gums showed. Castiel just looked back, never breaking eye contact, even when his eyes started to stream and he brought a hand up to his cheeks in apparently pain. For a moment Dean felt it. The feeling of a surf, pulling back, the resulting riptide imminent and unavoidable. Fuck,, Dean thought, still laughing softly. Castiel was going to pull him under.

As it turned out, the breakfast in the morning was somewhat ritualized. It was a lot more apparent to Castiel when he was in the position of guiding someone else through it. Though it had been more than a year since his departure, Castiel fell into the terse nods and farewells easily. The Novaks didn't mention Dean, barely acknowledged him, but Dean made an effort to look each of them in the eye and say a polite goodbye after breakfast. Naomi was the only one who approached them as they made to leave the table. Castiel gave Dean credit for keeping his mouth shut. He could see a muscle jumping in Dean's neck when Naomi patted Castiel on the shoulder awkwardly.

"I know we have had our differences," she said. Dean made a tiny noise, but quickly coughed to cover it up. Naomi ignored it. "I know we do not share the same faith as we once did..."

"We do, mother," Castiel replied, willing his voice to remain steady. "We just do not apply our faith the same way."

Dean, who was standing between Castiel and Naomi, facing Castiel, made a face at that. Castiel supposed he would have to explain that statement to him one day.

"Well," Naomi said, but did not make any attempt to continue her sentence. Naomi Novak rarely compromised.

"Regardless, I hope you will consider the choices presented to you," Naomi continued. "I trust that you will make the right decision."

Castiel grit his teeth.

"I heard you will not be using the tickets we bought you after all," Naomi said, a little louder. Gabriel, who had been coaxing a maid into bringing the leftover pastries directly up to his room, perked up at that. Anna snored peacefully where she had been sitting with her head in her hands at the table. Nine thirty was still too much to ask of her, apparently. Castiel had no doubt that Gabriel and her had snuck out of the manor after the reading of the will. Or perhaps age had made Gabriel a better lockpick. The bottles stacked high in the locked cabinet did look suspiciously emptier than they had the day before.

"Cassie?" Gabe asked, raising an eyebrow. "You going to be staying after all?"

Cas felt more than saw Dean tense. Despite their conversation the night before, despite the way Castiel had touched Dean until he writhed, despite the promises Castiel had whispered in Dean's ear after they both laid spent and half clothed in Castiel's old bedroom in the dark, Dean's expression still turned to doubt at the words. It was as if the man simply could not accept the fact that Castiel could find just as much contentment in bees and lemonade as helping the world become a better place in a much larger way.

"No," Castiel replied calmly. Dean visibly slumped. Castiel nearly chastised him. "Dean and I made plans to take a road trip."

Castiel said the words as much to Gabriel and his mother as to Dean himself, who blushed at the term. As always, Castiel was charmed by the way Dean's freckles stood out against the light pink of his skin, so he smiled back at Dean, forgetting his audience for a moment.

"Oh," came Naomi's sharp voice. Castiel turned his attention to her face just quickly enough to catch the tail end of a sour face. The feeling was contagious, because his grin disappeared almost instantaneously. Castiel pressed his lips together to stave off any sort of reaction.

"Awesome!" Gabriel exclaimed, ignoring Naomi completely. "Can Anna and I come?"

Dean's eyes widened at the suggestion, and he turned to Castiel, horrified. Castiel frowned, considering the cramped interior of the Lincoln, and whether the luggage would fit in the trunk or whether they would have to send some of it home by other means. He was mentally approximating the dimensions of Dean's rucksack when Gabriel suddenly cried out.

"Shut the fuck up, dipshit!" Anna said, yawning. "You wanna ruin their gay sex holiday?"

Castiel's eyes snapped to his mother, who's mouth was agape. Mortified, Castiel felt his own cheeks burning. Not one to often feel awkward, Castiel drew the line at discussing his sex life in front of his mother. Castiel wished he had the werewithal to say something, anything to end the terrible moment that had befallen the dining room. In his periphery, he saw Lucifer just about killing himself with laughter while Gabriel clapped him on the back in a rare moment of comraderie. Michael, who had been about to exit the room, no doubt to escape this very discussion of Castiel's relationship with Dean, rolled his eyes and left the room. And Dean, who had frozen at Anna's words, unstuck his eyes from Anna's head, that had sunk back into her arms, and turned to look at Castiel. Their eyes met, and Dean had to press his lips together to keep from bursting into laughter. He brought a hand up to his face so that all Castiel could see was his wide green eyes, horrified and progressively more amused as he stared back at him.

Naomi, once recovered from the initial shock, gave Anna a withering look, inhaled deeply, and turned to Castiel.

"Safe travels, Castiel," she said solemnly, and exited the room through the hall door.

Dean barely waited until the double doors had closed before he burst into laughter so loud it had Anna snorting awake again.

"God, you two are unbearable," she said, folding her hands over her ears and glaring at Dean. "Won't you just go fuck already and let us sleep in peace?"

With that she pushed her chair back, palming a croissant before a maid could whisk it away, and shoved Gabriel, who was making crude gestures at Lucifer.

"Come on, Gabe," she said, pulling him away just as Lucifer tried to elbow him in the gut. "We've got a flight to catch."

"In three hours!" Gabe protested, but Anna firmly dragged him from the room.

Castiel turned to Dean, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I think that is the most excitement this household had seen since the Second World War..." he said, still too shell shocked to even take in Dean's expression.

"Baby, you ain't seen nothin' yet," Dean said, waggling his eyebrows. Cas laughed weakly.

"Let's go," Castiel replied, still incredulous. "I don't want to know what other kind of trouble you can get into here. Let's just quit while we're ahead."

"Yes, sir!" Dean replied, bringing his hand up in a salute. It was Castiel's turn to waggle his eyebrows as he playfully smacked Dean's ass.

He walked ahead of Dean, leading the way to the lobby where their luggage was waiting. He thought he heard him mutter something about "bad influence on him" as Dean followed him out.

Even after all the luggage had been loaded into the trunk and back seat of the lincoln, Dean had insisted on checking the car before leaving. Castiel hadn't really minded though, as it was a nice day outside and though Dean looked good in the suit he wore the days before, Castiel preferred him in his element. Sitting on the ledge of a large stone lion in front of his family's home, Castiel patiently watched Dean bend over, his arms coming down to perch on the edges of the hood of the old car. He frowned and touched a few different parts, nodding succinctly whenever he deemed things to be in working order. Castiel enjoyed the view.

After about an hour of Dean kicking tyres and testing the different features, Dean threw Castiel a look before spreading his legs apart a little and bending all the way over to reach into the still open hood. Castiel grinned, throwing an eyebrow up in question. Dean shrugged a little too innocently, head turned back over his shoulder so that he could see Castiel, and went back to doing whatever he was doing under the hood. Never one to back down from a challenge, Castiel got up to stand behind Dean. A growl threatened to form in his throat when Dean very gently set his weight back against Castiel.

"Anything I can do to help, sweetheart?" Castiel asked, mouth brushing up against Dean's ear. He couldn't see Dean's face, but he would be willing to bet good money that the man was smiling.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Can you hand me a wrench, please?"

Castiel complied, leaning over to where Dean had propped the toolbox from the Lincoln's trunk on the side of the hood. Castiel felt Dean inhale when Castiel's arm, the one that wasn't reaching for the tools, gripped his waist. Dean was back to wearing a worn out Metallica shirt and a pair of faded jeans. The material was damp with sweat where Castiel's hand was bunched in it, so he couldn't resist slipping it a tiny bit lower so that it brushed the waistline of Dean's jeans.

Just as he located the wrench in the box, after a moment of blind searching as he simultaneously attempted to sink his hand lower into Dean's pants, Castiel felt the tip of his fingers brush up against much softer material underneath the rough denim. Though he brought the wrench to Dean, who was still hunched over the hood, the man stood frozen instead of grabbing the tool from his hand.

"Dean?" Castiel questioned, hand coming to rest just above Dean's zipper, rubbing a thumb along the soft flesh of Dean's stomach.

"Uh," Dean said, grabbing the wrench. He seemed to bring his focus back to whatever "problem" he had in the mess of car parts Castiel knew little about, so Cas continued his ministrations without comment.

He toyed with the waistband of the denim a little longer, his other hand squeezing possessively at Dean's waist as it snaked around the join his other one at Dean's front.

"You look good like this," Castiel said. He couldn't resist riling Dean up. Especially after the cheeky display and mischevious looks. Dean was beautiful, always, but Castiel particularly liked when Dean felt comfortable enough to ask for things he liked. Even if it was as simple as silently demanding touch from his boyfriend. Oh, and Castiel very much liked that word too.

"What? All sweaty and middle class?" Dean scoffed, but Castiel could see the back of his neck was reddening.

"Hmm," Castiel hummed, ignoring the words meant to distract and placing a small kiss against the flushed flesh of Dean's nape. "Or dirty," he said in the shell of Dean's ear. "And sexy," he continued, his mouth licking a trail down the side of Dean's throat. "And hot."

"Damn, Cas, if I'd've known you had a mechanic kink, I'd've brought the jumpsuit," Dean said. His voice hitched a little when Castiel gripped his hips harder and brought his own up against Dean's ass.

"I'd like that, I think. I could be the customer who forgot his wallet," Castiel said, fingers rubbing circles back towards each other on Dean's bared skin. "And we'd have to find another method of payment..."

Dean chuckled nervously. Whatever job he had been pretending to do was basically abandoned now; the wrench he had requested lay useless on a free piece of the engine.

"Aw, Cas," Dean said teasingly, but his voice came out too breathy for it to be much of a joke. "You gonna talk about checking your undercarriage or some shit now?" Dean asked. Cas wasn't listening, not really.

"Maybe," he murmured, hands finally working their way beneath the denim, snaking towards Dean's briefs. But, instead of the cotton feel of a pair of boxers, Castiel felt something foreign. It took him a second to identify it, but in that second, Dean had frozen. Castiel instinctively froze too, hands still shoved awkwardly under Dean's fly, fingers caught in what he finally recognized as lace.

"Dean, are those-?" Castiel asked, but was interrupted.

"I thought you had left," came the voice of Castiel's oldest brother. Snatching his hands back to his sides, Castiel turned around to find Michael staring at them in what could only be described as a look of utmost horror and disgust.

"We were just-" Dean started to say, just as Castiel began to speak as well.

"We were leaving, we just-" he said. Michael cut them both off by striding up to Castiel and grabbing him by the collar.

"I do not want to hear about the disgusting acts you were likely to engage in before I thankfully interrupted you," Michael said, his nose millimeters from Castiel's face. "How dare you stand in front of your mother's home and defile it with your... Ugh! You think because you have been offered this opportunity, this privilege, you'll be allowed to squander it on your piece of trash flavour of the month? If you even accept, mother will see to it that you don't bring this riffraff around our reputable company. And if you don't accept," Michael continued, his mouth turning up into a grinning snarl. "Well I'll be here to pick up the slack. Mother has been going soft in her old age. I'll see to it that it's remedied. As I always have."

Michael finally let Castiel go, just in time for him to stop Dean, who was lunging in for the attack.

"Get off our property," Michael said, turning around. "Before someone else witnesses your appalling behaviour."

With that, he disappeared back up the stairs and into the manor.

Dean was still breathing heavily, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Will an angry blowjob help in any way, shape, or form?" Castiel blurted, after a beat.

Dean's mouth morphed from a scowl to a surprised "o" shape.

"Wh- Cas!" he exclaimed, and Castiel smiled tentatively.

"That's not a no!" he argued and Dean burst into laughter.

"I think for once, we should take your dick brother's advice," Dean said, and it was Castiel's turn to look surprised. "Let's get the fuck outta here. There's a bacon festival with my name on it."

Castiel smiled and followed Dean as he hit the kickstand on the hood, grabbing the wrench and the toolbox just in time and slid into the driver's seat.

"So," Castiel said, after they had been driving for a good fifteen minutes. They were approaching the highway, and Dean hadn't said much. Castiel couldn't tell if it was because of what Michael had said, twice now, or because of what had happened right before that. Or perhaps it was because of something entirely different. Castiel was quickly learning that figuring out what Dean was feeling or thinking was a sort of lonely game. He eyed Dean while he spoke, hoping to see a sign of whether he should ask about it directly or simply leave him alone. Dean tensed at the interruption of their comfortable silence, but he generally seemed relaxed. Castiel couldn't deny the fact that Dean looked good behind the wheel. He'd always thought so, whether Dean was driving Sam's old car or his sleek impala, Dean just seemed to belong in the driver's seat. Something about the bowlegs and faded jeans, Dean was Americana and long winding highways with endless possibilities.

"So," Dean replied, when Castiel got too distracted to continue. He side-eyed Castiel expectantly. "What?"

"So, about what happened earlier..." Castiel started. He paused deliberately, hoping Dean would give him a hint as to which event exactly was preoccupying his thoughts, or whether perhaps it was a combination of the two. Castiel tried not to think of the surprise and undeniable surge of primal desire he had felt upon the discovery of lace, lace! underneath Dean's ratty jeans and grease stained shirt. As soon as the initial discomfort of Michael's unfortunate speech had dissipated, Castiel had been itching to bring it up. But the heated looks and sighing man beneath him were gone. In his place sat a very concentrated and gaze-avoidant Dean.

"Michael?" Dean asked, shrugging his shoulders. "Nothin' I haven't heard before, Cas. Don't worry 'bout it."

Castiel frowned, his thoughts jarred from Dean spread out on his bed in the purple teddy from his top drawer to Dean, being talked about like an object or worse, treated like one.

"I hate that you have had to go through that at all, much less that it come from someone I was once associated with, who is, unfortunately, blood," Castiel said solemnly. He shook his head, snaking a hand to rest on Dean's thigh. "The words Michael said... They have nothing to do with you, Dean. Every second I spend in your company is one I cherish and I could not fathom a better way for my limited time on earth to be used. I wish no one had ever told you that you were anything less than important, valuable, beautiful. I wish..."

"Ok, ok," Dean said, avoiding Castiel's gaze and rubbing a hand against his burning cheeks. Castiel smiled a little at that. Dean rarely accepted a compliment without argument, and whenever he did, Castiel couldn't help but feel a small amount of pride.

"Besides Michael, though," Castiel said tentatively. Dean remained silent.

Castiel debated internally whether or not to push the issue. He was just replaying a scene in his mind in which Dean admitted to wearing lingerie, and, even better, admitted to wearing it for Castiel and only for Castiel, when Dean cleared his throat.

"What about it?" Dean asked, and turned briefly to look at Castiel, shoulders hunched and eyes glaring. Castiel fought to keep his stare level and calming, his stance loose and nonthreatnng.

"I, uh," Castiel said, faltering. What aboutwhat colour? what cut? or why? Castiel could guess, of course. He could speculate. Maybe Dean had some gender dysphoria. It wasn't uncommon, and seeing as Castiel rarely worried about gender norms, not unwelcome either in this case. Or perhaps Dean simply enjoyed crossdressing. That was an activity Castiel could understand, maybe even participate in if Dean wanted to share with him that way. Castiel definitely would not be averse to wearing a skirt on a hot day. Not to mention that Castiel was generally unconcerned with gendered clothing, either.

But there was another reason Dean could be wearing the delicate article, and that was the reason Castiel couldn't help but fantasize about. It was the reason Castiel himself had thought about slipping on a pair of frilly underwear once or twice, the reason he had, on occasion, perused the women's lingerie section in the department store.

His hesitation made Dean frown harder, his chin jutting forward as he sped up and turned his blinker on to pass the car in front of him.

"I wanted to know more about it, is all," Castiel finally said, voice carefully casual. Dean looked at him warily out of the corner of his eye, still tense.

"Well what do you wanna know?" Dean asked abruptly, staring at the road. He interrupted Castiel before he had a chance to speak, however, by cursing. "Are we really gonna do this right now in the middle of the goddamn day?" he asked, a small amount of hysteria leaking into his incredulous tone. Castiel had to smile a little at that.

"I would offer to wait until later, but I honestly don't think I could wait that long," Castiel admitted, smiling sheepishly. "I would likely be distracted all day..."

Dean winced at that.

"I know, it's fucking weird..." he started. Castiel's eyebrows nearly disappeared behind his hairline.

"Weird?" he blurted, surprised. "That is not the word I would use."

Dean must have misinterpreted Castiel's look, however, because he scowled back at him immediately.

"Yeah? What word would you use then, Cas?" he spat. Castiel frowned back at him.

"Fucking hot?" Castiel said, matter of factly. His voice sunk a few octaves, but he found he could not be bothered to feel guilty as Dean swerved a little to avoid the curb when he stared back at Castiel too long.

"Oh," Dean said to the windshield.

"Indeed," Castiel replied. Dean glanced over at him again.

"So what did you want to know about it, then?" Dean asked quietly. Castiel grinned.

"Everything," he said, sitting up a little straighter. "Why do you wear them?"

"Shit, Cas, jump right in!" Dean said shakily. Castiel just stared patiently.

"Uh, I, uh," Dean started, and cleared his throat several times before continuing. "I wear them alone, mostly."

"Hmm," Castiel said. "But not today," he added, thoughtful. It wasn't a question, but Dean answered anyway.

"Yeah, not today," Dean answered, voice breathy. "I thought, I knew I would maybe be working on the car and I thought... I figured you might, or I would..."

Dean seemed to have trouble finishing a thought, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly and his face a lovely shade of umber. He rolled down the window a little further, wind playing in his blond locks and he struggled to continue. Castiel frowned in contemplation, until he connected the dots and smirked.

"You hoped I would find them," he said finally. Again, it wasn't a question, but Dean nodded, eyes glued to the road.

"Yeah," he admitted, his voice more a breath than a sound, even. Castiel rubbed a thumb over his thigh. Dean brought his hand down from the steering wheel and placed it over Castiel's.

"I, uh, wanted you to know I could share too," Dean mumbled, glancing quickly at Castiel and turning back to the road.

"I could hardly contain myself," Castiel said, matter of factly, after a moment. Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"What, really?" Dean asked, blush darkening but a pleased smile coming to play over his features.

"I never thought I would say this, but I was almost glad Michael interrupted us," Castiel continued, Dean's smile infectious. "Because otherwise I feared I would have you over the hood of my car, right there in my mother's driveway. I haven't really stopped thinking about it since."

Dean outright smirked at that, and gave Castiel's hand a little squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel.

"Huh," he replied, looking very pleased with himself.

"Yes, well," Castiel said, unable to truly be annoyed at Dean when he looked so damn good when he was being smug. "You're just a very attractive man... My poor gay self didn't stand a chance!"

Dean burst into laughter again, smiling at Castiel and nodding his head once in approval.

"Damn right," he said, mock serious, and winked. Castiel clutched his heart, swooning.

"Oh my heavens!" he cried. Dean shook his head, still smiling.

The rest of the car ride went by torturously slowly. Castiel had not been on many road trips, but he was beginning to find he was not made for them; especially not when his boyfriend - Lord, would he ever tire of that title?- sat beside him. Especially not when Castiel knew that underneath the ragged, use clothes, Dean had specifically worn delicate, pretty panties, just for him. Because he wanted to share.

Castiel had to constantly remind himself that Dean was new to this, that they were both new to this relationship, that Dean had a lot of baggage when it came to sex, especially sex with men. But it became increasingly difficult as Dean insisted on moaning around the edges of a particularly juicy burger when they stopped in the middle of the afternoon for a well deserved meal. Then, as it became clear the Lincoln's air conditioner was not quite up to snuff, Dean had the audacity of taking off his already damp with sweat shirt so that the wind blew on his bare torso. Castiel's mouth went dry at the sight of Dean's jeans, which hung obscenely low, kept dipping low enough for Castiel to see tantalizing slivers of pink.

He must have groaned out loud at one point when Dean leaned forward to change lanes and Castiel's eyes snapped to the scrap of garment peeking out behind the denim. And that was without even mentioning the way Dean's belly spilled over the waistline of his pants a little in a way that made Castiel want to bite at the soft tanned flesh just to watch Dean squirm underneath him. For a man who had never been too preoccupied with sex, Castiel found himself thinking about it near constantly around Dean, who barely seemed to register his own beauty. Castiel felt as if his arousal was just a baseline buzz around the man, and yet every touch and look was still electrifying.

Though he was still distracted by the vague thought that perhaps staying with Dean for the rest of his life would require a more healthy lifestyle, especially if his heart was going to be beating erratically this way around him, Dean had definitely noticed his appreciative noise because he was no longer looking smug. In fact, once Castiel tore his eyes away from Dean's miles of bare skin, he saw that Dean was staring at him with what had to be the exact same hunger in his own eyes. He turned back to the road, for safety's sake, but Castiel could see a warm flush staining his neck and shoulders.

"Sorry," Castiel said, but kept staring. "Were you saying something?"

They had been talking on and off throughout the few hours, Castiel doing his best not to get distracted and Dean playfully teasing him, but it seemed the game had come to a head, at least for Castiel, with that glimpse of lace, light pink material dampened with sweat.

"I don't actually know," Dean replied, bringing a hand up to his face as he pressed on the accelerator. "Where the fuck is this town?" he mumbled, eyes searching the horizon.

"I don't know," Castiel growled, trying not to pout, but failing miserably. "I am wondering if I might currently find myself in hell."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"And they shall go forth, and look upon the carcases of the men that have transgressed against me: for their worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched; and they shall be an abhorring unto all flesh," Castiel said gravely. Dean balked.

"Uh, was that poetry, Cas?" Dean asked. "Cos I gotta be honest it was kinda fuckin' hot."

Castiel chuckled, the urgency of the situation dissipating a little.

"It's Isaiah," Castiel said. When Dean only raised his eyebrows, he continued. "From the Bible, about Hell."

"Uh," Dean replied eloquently, licking the top of his lip.

"Some interpret the passage to be a description of Hell. 'never shall their fire be quenched' probably describes how in Hell, you might thirst after water, hoping that even a drop of the cool liquid fall upon your cracked lips, but you will never have that satisfaction. You burn, in eternity, lusting after what you cannot have," Castiel explained. He turned to Dean. "You are a well of cold water that I want nothing more than to drink from, and yet I burn beside you because I am denied your touch."

Dean's cheeks erupted into flame at the words. His eyes widened and his mouth parted, but Castiel could not find it in him to cheapen or lessen their intensity. He was exhausted and his patience ran low. The trip had been a challenging one and touching Dean did seem like an oasis. What he would give to be out of the cramped, heated space. Dean was still at a loss for words, so Castiel smiled.

"Well, fuck," Dean mumbled, and the car jerked forward a little as he scanned the horizon for the proper exit. "S'a good thing we're almost there."


	4. Chapter 4

As it turned out, they were not "almost there" as Dean had suggested. In fact, they struck a large patch of traffic in the middle of nowhere that had them crawling at a snail's pace. The tension in the car was palpable and newly tinged with the anxiety with which Dean kept eyeing the gas tank.

"Relax," Castiel said gently. "We'll make it."

Dean huffed a breath, rolling his eyes.

"Besides," Castiel added. "We're barely moving anyway. This would be an ideal place to break down."

"There are no ideal places for a car to break down, Cas," Dean said through gritted teeth.

"No?" Castiel said mildly, reaching down to the knapsack he had brought with him at his feet. "I would have thought the large fields and abandoned farm houses might be a good place to pass the time for a tow truck to arrive."

Castiel emerged with a notebook in hand and opened it up to a new page.

"Right," Dean said sarcastically. "'Cos farms and fields are a fuckin' riot..."

"Well we would certainly very isolated," Castiel responded, pulling a pen out of somewhere, eyes on his page. "We wouldn't have to worry about being loud."

"Are you gonna murder me or somethin', Cas?" Dean replied, still frowning at the traffic without paying any attention to Castiel.

"Hmm, no... I was thinking more along the lines of la petite mort," Castiel said through a sigh. Dean finally turned to look at him, expression puzzled.

"What?" he asked, face scrunched up in annoyance. "Dude, was that french?"

Dean glanced down at Castiel's lips, and turned back to the road. He braked a little abruptly when he noticed he had been drifting dangerously close to the car in front of them. Castiel looked up briefly from him notebook, smirking at Dean.

"Yes, that was french," Castiel affirmed. "I am fluent in French, German, Spanish, and Latin... Though the latter has rarely been useful."

Dean's mouth parted as his frown disappeared to be replaced by a surprised expression.

"Oh," he breathed, hands tightening on the wheel.

"La petite mort," Castiel continued, "is 'the little death'."

Castiel stopped writing for a moment to look at Dean with his eyebrow raised. Dean glanced at him quickly to convey his confusion still.

"At times, when one experiences a particularly powerful emotion, like pleasure, one may lose or have weakened consciousness, much like a small death," Castiel explained, tilting his head forward expectantly.

"So you don't want to kill me..." Dean said slowly. "You just want to knock me out?"

Castiel paused for a moment, still staring at Dean, but now with a slight glare in his gaze. He brought a palm up to his forehead and shook his head, chuckling softly.

"No... Dean. La petite mort means an orgasm," Castiel said finally, still shaking his head. "I meant to imply that breaking down in the middle of nowhere with many abandoned and isolated locations could be ideal for me to give you oral sex privately, and perhaps, if my skills are up to your satisfaction, induce pleasure that is strong enough to weaken your consciousness."

Dean stopped the vehicle entirely just to stare at Castiel.

"Dude," he said after a moment. "Just say you wanna fuckin' blow me."

Dean laughed as he inched forward a little, eyes back on the road.

"Yes, well," Castiel huffed. "I was attempting to seduce you with a romantic language."

"Hmm," Dean said, considering. "Well maybe if you try it again?"

Castiel looked up from his notebook questioningly.

"Tu veux dire... comme ça?" Castiel asked. Dean grinned at the road and feigned a shiver.

"Ouuhhh," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "Casti-elle! Eres sexy!"

Castiel rolled his eyes.

"That's Spanish, Dean," Castiel pointed out. "Very poor Spanish, at that. I do not enjoy being mocked."

"I'm not mocking!" Dean exclaimed, but Castiel sniffed and returned to his notebook.

Dean stayed silent for a moment, rolling his eyes and ignoring Castiel's sulking.

"... Fine," Dean said, sighing. "It was kinda sexy."

Castiel didn't look up from his pen and paper though. Dean finally looked over to see what he was doing.

"Come on, Pouty McPouterson," Dean said, swiping a hand blindly at Castiel's lap. "I liked your french. I liked it mucho. Now show me what you've got going on here!"

Castiel snatched his notebook away just in time, turning his back a little so that Dean couldn't see it.

"Come on, Cas!" Dean pleaded again. Castiel remained focused on his little black notebook. Dean sighed.

"What's it gonna take for you to stop pouting and show me what you're hiding there?" Dean said finally, resisting another eye roll. Castiel turned back to face frontwards before Dean finished his question. He tapped his chin with his pen and covered the notebook from Dean's wandering eyes with his other hand.

"Hmm," he said, considering. Dean fought down a scoffing noise. "I know!"

Castiel turned to Dean with a large grin, flipping his notebook over and settling into his seat with relish.

"Apologize to me in french," Castiel said seriously.

Dean burst into laughter.

"Cas," he said, still laughing. "I can't speak french!"

"I know," Castiel said, rolling his eyes. "I'll teach you."

Dean was silent for a minute.

"Aw, come on, Cas, can't it be something else?" he finally said. Castiel shook his head.

"Nope," Castiel said happily, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his chin up. "I think the punishment perfectly suits the crime. Ready for your lesson?"

Dean tilted his head back, sighing loudly, and turned his gaze to Castiel, bottom lip jutting out and eyes widened.

"Ca-as," he whined, but Castiel remained stoic. Dean held his puppy dog gaze for a moment before letting his face fall into a defeated grimace.

"Fine," he said. Castiel brightened visibly. The car inched forward again when the traffic cleared a little.

"Ok. Repeat after me: je," Castiel said.

"Juh," Dean answered dutifully through gritted teeth.

"Suis," Castiel said.

"Swee," Dean replied, rolling his eyes.

"Désolé," Castiel said.

"Day-so-lay," Dean replied, glancing over at Castiel's satisfied smirk.

"Ok, all together now. Je. Suis. Désolé. Castiel," Cas said, cupping a hand around his ear at the end. Dean rolled his eyes again.

"Juh swee day-so-lay, bébé," Dean answered with a smirk of his own. Castiel jerked around to look at Dean with a huge smile on his face.

"What?" Dean said, but his grin betrayed his self-satisfaction at startling Castiel. "Sam has an app, Duo-language or some shit. I got bored once."

Dean's cheeks were a little pink, but Castiel just beamed back at him.

"Very good, Dean," Castiel said, licking his lips. Dean's cheeks flamed red. He cleared his throat.

"Alright," he said gruffly. "You said you'd show me. Come on, Cas, a deal's a deal."

It was Castiel's turn to feel his cheeks burn a little as he reluctantly complied.

"It's just a hobby of mine," Castiel begins, flipping the notebook over. "Please do not read too much into it. You were the only subject matter present."

It is a blessing in disguise that the traffic is so slow because Dean does not look away from the notebook for a long time, considering he is manning the wheel of a large vehicle. Castiel squirms after a too long moment of silence, edging the notebook away and into his lap. Part of him wanted Dean to ask, had taken out the sketch book as a sort of rebellious act, hoping Dean would notice and offer constructive criticism. But a much larger part of him was nervous. The drawings were, after all, quite personal. The current doodle depicted Dean and himself, as part of a comic about being stuck in traffic. Dean had been staring too long now, and the worried part of Castiel grew with every second that went by.

"Like I said," Castiel muttered finally, making to close the notebook, "nothing special. Just an easy way to pass the time."

A car horn honked loudly behind them as Dean had left a few feet in front of him while he had been looking at Castiel's drawings.

"No," Dean said, shoving a hand against Castiel's own that were attempting to close the notebook. "That's cool, man. Was that... Is that me?" Dean asked, turning back to the road and advancing a little.

"Uh, yes," Castiel said quietly.

"How come I have wings?" Dean asked, glancing back at Castiel with a curious smile. Encouraged by the genuine question, Castiel smiled back.

"Because," he said, ducking his head and willing his cheeks to stop burning. "In... In this series you are sort of an... angel?"

Dean guffawed, looking back at Castiel incredulously.

"An angel?" Dean asked. "What, do I go around telling you to do the right thing or some shit? Damn, Cas. Woulda thought you knew me better'n that by now!"

Castiel shook his head, smile widening a little.

"No, no," Castiel protested, shaking his head. He looked down at the page where one box depicted him and Dean kissing and blushed a little harder. "You're kind of..."

Dean glanced over, raising his eyebrows in askance.

"Uh, you're kind of rude, actually," Castiel admitted finally. "You're an angel who is, as you'd probably put it, a big bag of dicks."

"What!" Dean exclaimed loudly. "I'm a dick? To whom?"

"Well," Castiel replied. "Sort of everyone. Even me."

"So... I am sort of like the angel on your shoulder, then," Dean replied, nodding his head in approval. "Except I'm kind of a dick about it."

"Yes," Castiel said fondly. "Something like that."

"Well," Dean replied, "I wanna hear more! This clearly isn't your first comic about it. What's it about?"

Castiel bit his lip, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's a bit long," he said, evading the question.

"Alright, let's make a deal then," Dean said, watching as the traffic started to move a little quicker. "You read. I drive. We stop trying to eye fuck each other."

Castiel balked, reddening further, but shook his head.

"Well, they're illustrations though, at times..." Castiel protested weakly.

"Then I'll look really quick while the car in front of me moves an inch forward," Dean replied, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Cas. They look awesome."

He made a point of looking down onto the page where Cas had the book open. Castiel was horrified to see his hand was splayed so that all that was visible was the kiss.

"Very awesome..." Dean added at the sight, waggling his eyebrows as Castiel felt his skin heat again.

Castiel sighed.

"Well, I mean," Dean said, biting his lip as he smiled. "If you don't want to share with the class, it's cool, alright? I don't wanna make you do anything you don't wanna do..." Castiel smiled at that, but Dean wasn't finished. "But.. I gotta say, man. You're pretty talented. That's a damn good representation of what's runnin' 'round my head all day, at least. Well, the PG version."

Castiel chuckled at that, moving his hands away from the pages and smiling wryly.

"Alright," he said finally. "Deal."

Dean looked back at him for a moment, eyes twinkling in the afternoon sun.

"Awesome," he said, sitting up straighter. "Go ahead."

Castiel flipped through to the first page of the notebook. He had written it the day after Dean had slept at his house. He remembered not being able to do hardly anything else but think about the green eyed freckled closet-cuddler. So he had sat down and hoped to sketch out the anticipation and nerves that he had about Dean calling. Unfortunately, his brain had created an entire plot, and by the time he was done, a rough draft of a few comic book pages had come to life.

"'Ow! Fuck'" Castiel read, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Should I use voices in order for you to distinguish who is speaking? Or should I simply add a 'says Dean' afterwards?" Castiel asked. Dean shrugged.

"Whatever you want man," Dean said, still grinning like a kid in a candy store. "But you probably shouldn't try to talk like me, that'll just get weird."

"Alright, Dean," Castiel said, and started again. "'Ow! Fuck!' says Dean. The scene depicts a pair of wings on top of a pile of dirt and a man in a trench coat standing beside it."

"Lemme see!" Dean said, eyeing the road where the cars had finally begun to move until Cas held up the image to Dean's eye level. Glancing over quickly, Dean nodded to indicate Castiel could lower it. "Nice, he literally 'fell' from Heaven. I get it."

"That was the idea, yes," Castiel answered, smiling a little.

"Cool, go on," Dean said impatiently.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to continue this at the hotel?" Castiel inquired, checking his phone quickly to determine that they were merely twenty minutes away from their destination.

"Nah, man, I don't wanna wait," Dean said, shaking his head. "Besides," he added, risking another glance, this one quite heated, at Castiel. "I have other plans for when we get to the hotel."

Dean winked at Castiel, who turned an even brighter shade of pink, and buried his face into his notebook.

"Very well," Castiel said, turning the page and continuing his reading.

"So, um, I got one room," Dean said, walking towards Castiel who waited in the passenger seat. "For both of us. That's cool, right?"

Castiel smiled.

"Yes, Dean," Castiel replied, shaking his head a little. "You do realize we've been sharing a bed basically since the day we met…"

"Shut up and get your bag," Dean muttered, shouldering his own duffel bag and turning back towards the hotel.

"Chivalry is dead," Castiel called after him, but Dean simply raised a finger up in the air without looking back. Castiel chuckled and made his way around to the open trunk. He got his own small suitcase out and hurried after Dean.

When they arrived on the fourth floor to their room, Dean opened the door gingerly, stepping aside to let Castiel in. Following him, he whistled lowly at the accommodations.

"You sure we shouldn't just stay somewhere cheaper?" Dean said uncertainly, eyeing the luxurious towels as if they had personally offended him.

"No," Castiel said mildly, running his hands along the white duvet of the large bed. The site he had perused in the car between reading breaks on the way there had boasted a suite with a small kitchen and a free breakfast in the morning. He hummed approvingly at the soft linens and turned towards Dean. He had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing.

Dean stood awkwardly shifting from foot to foot at the other end of the room, avoiding eye contact and bright red.

"Hey, Cas, I know, uh, it's been a long day, but..." He looked at the bed and seemed to turn slightly green.

"Would you prefer we go out to dinner before settling into the room?" Castiel asked delicately. Dean looked at him in relief.

"Yeah," he said, exhaling loudly and visibly relaxing. Castiel, perplexed but amused, simply nodded.

"Alright, Dean," Castiel said carefully. "I'll just shower quickly and we can go to the nearest restaurant."

Dean bit his lip, mouth forming a grim line before he nodded tersely.

"Sure, ok," Dean said. "Actually, I don't feel that gross, I think I'm gonna wait in the car."

Castiel frowned.

"Dean, we've just spent an inordinate amount of time in that very hot, very sweaty car together. Are you sure you don't want to join me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.

Dean seemed to debate for a moment, and it looked like he might say yes. But then a shadow crossed his features and he shook his head.

"Nah, seriously, I don't mind," Dean said, already opening his duffel bag and laying out a fresh shirt. "I'll just change into somethin' less gross and we can go out, alright?"

"Okay..." Castiel responded, surprised. Though, knowing Dean, he likely took issue with the cleanliness of the hotel. One of their long phone calls late at night had revolved mostly around Dean's dislike for used bathrooms. He appreciated a good shower, enjoyed the water pressure and the act of getting clean. But to hear him speak of the idea that other people had been where he had been... Well, Castiel would not be surprised to find Dean to be uncomfortable with the "germs" he might encounter in a semi-public bathroom.

"Alright, go away, peeping Tom!" Dean said, pushing Castiel towards the door while he divested himself of his damp shirt. Castiel got into the bathroom with a false huff.

Dean sat in the parking lot. It was absolutely boiling outside. He left the entire car door open, seeing as the passenger seat's window stuck at the three quarter mark and Dean was desperate for even the slightest breeze. He waited for Castiel to emerge from the building's front door.

He really should have taken him up on the shower. He should have said yes, or at least took a turn washing the four hours off his skin. But he hadn't. He couldn't. Even once Castiel had picked a hotel on his phone that he deemed "good enough" and "decent priced" and Dean had offered to check in, he had felt strange chill at entering the building. He couldn't place the feeling exactly, but once they had entered the room itself, Dean couldn't hardly wait to get out of it. Castiel had run his hands against the duvet slowly, looked up at Dean with those same eyes from the car and Dean had tried. He had truly tried to get back to where his dick was nearly hard in his pants behind the wheel from the way Castiel was looking at him alone. He'd even replayed those stupid french words Castiel had said, his voice gravelly and low as fuck, like a phone call directly to his cock like, "Hey? Yes. Hello, I'm here for this."

But none of it had worked. Despite the fact that he had been half hard for pretty much the entire day, despite the fact that Castiel had offered himself naked, wet and willing, Dean could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. As soon as Castiel had suggested being naked for any amount of time in that room, Dean had wanted to bolt.

And then there was the issue of being naked and wet and with Castiel. Somehow, Dean had half-formed a plan in his mind that they had followed almost to the tee so far. A road trip to a bacon festival, with a night in a hotel picked by his... boyfriend... Dean could not think of a more romantic buildup to what he expected Castiel was thinking about too: sex.

And yes, Dean wanted that. Ever since their heavy make out session in bed, Dean had realized that, oh. Sex with men was a thing. Sex with men didn't only happen at truck stops or in back seats. It didn't have a price tag on it. It wasn't always between strangers. And most importantly, Dean could want it. In fact, it was scary how much Dean wanted it with Cas. That's why he had brought the panties. Something he felt so silly about now that he had bolted straight out of that room at the first opportunity. Dean had been the one to wear them. Dean had technically come on to Cas... And then...

Dean had had sex with men before. He had had a lot of sex with men, actually. Men were his best customers, his highest paying. He remembered thinking, back in those days with Alastair, about 'hazard pay' in normal jobs and how Sammy had told him once that crab fishing or some shit was one of the highest paying jobs in the world just because there was a damn high chance you didn't make it out of that alive. And some night, when Alastair would tell Dean what had to be done, he thought about hazard pay. Men were his best customers; especially the big, bearded men who blamed Dean for being so pretty, for getting them hard with his cocksucking lips, for being such a goddamn faggot that they had to teach him a lesson, show him what a real man was. And Alastair would negotiate. He was on Dean's side, he insisted. If there were gonna be bruises, there was gonna be a fee. Make up ain't free.

Dean tried to push thoughts of the worst nights out of his mind. This wasn't that. This was different. And whatever weird feeling he had gotten in that room had nothing to do with Cas. Cas was good. Cas was good even though his family wasn't. Dean was just the opposite, he didn't even deserve someone like Cas, but Cas wanted him. Cas said he needed him like water. So Dean could be good. If there was one good thing he could accomplish in his sorry excuse for a life, it would be this. He would be good for Cas.

His thoughts were interrupted by the swing of the double doors of the chain hotel. Castiel emerged, fresh faced and smiling, from the building, hair wet from his shower and one of Dean's shirts on his back.

"Hey, good lookin'," Dean called out, swallowing the bad taste at the back of his throat. "That's one sexy shirt you got on there, cutie!"

Castiel grinned and hugged the shirt to him, walking right up into Dean's space. Pulling a handful of Dean's ACDC shirt up to his nose, he inhaled deeply.

"It smells like you," he said breathlessly, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck. He inhaled again in Dean's neck. "Mmh," he added rubbing his still cold nose up against Dean's sweaty skin. "You smell like you, too."

Dean scoffed.

"I smell like ass, you mean," he corrected.

"Actually," Castiel said thoughtfully. "I'm quite glad you didn't shower."

Dean laughs outright at that.

"I am disgusting," Dean protested.

"Far from it," Castiel said, his face still buried in his neck. Dean balked when he felt the cold tip of Castiel's tongue.

"Hey!" he said, eyeing the empty parking lot, irrationally worried.

"You taste amazing," Castiel said, ignoring Dean's feeble protests and biting his collarbone.

"Ok," Dean acquiesced. "Ok, ok. Cas. Dinner? Remember?"

Cas sighed and detached himself from Dean's neck with a whine.

"Come on, nympho," Dean said, dragging Castiel into the driver's seat. "You're drivin'."

"Fine, but you owe me," Castiel said, and licked a stripe up Dean's neck, smiling like the cat who got the cream. Dean stood frozen in surprise for a moment.

"Damn deviant," Dean muttered. He was smiling though as he made his way to the passenger seat.

The nearest restaurant ended up being a very small, very questionable establishment that claims to sell fresh seafood in a landlocked state. Castiel did not protest when Dean suggested they make a left into the parking lot, however, and simply put his blinker on without comment. It wasn't until he was sitting at a bar stool, listening to, absurdly, a country version of Octopus' Garden, as he surveyed a laminated menu boasting five different kinds of lobster that Castiel began to regret his silence.

"I was not aware that there were different types of lobster..." he pointed out warily. Dean looked delighted at the menu though.

"Dude, I've heard of these places. Jack Silver's? Apparently there's bottomless shrimp cocktails with every meal!" Dean said, rubbing his hands together as he perused the Surf and Turf section.

Castiel watched a waitress bring was appeared to be a large platter of octopus to a burly man at a booth in confusion. He shook his head at the juxtaposition and turned back to the menu.

"Y'all about ready to order?" the waitress drawled as she approached their table a few seconds later.

"Yeah," Dean said, smiling brightly. "You ready, Cas?"

Castiel shrugged noncommittally, still looking around in confusion.

"I'll have the steak with the deep fried fish steak on the side. And instead of the steamed vegetables, can I get those bacon wrapped fries you got there, honey?" Dean said, flashing the woman a winning smile. Castiel was simultaneously amused and disgusted.

"This is who I've chosen to be with," he muttered to himself.

"What was that?" Dean asked.

"I think I've chosen my meal," he said louder, clearing his throat. "I would like the garden salad, but I don't need the fries on the side, thank you."

The waitress looked at him expectantly.

"Oh, and a beer, I supposed," Castiel added, but she still stared at him.

"The garden salad's an entree, you gonna be needin' a meal, 'sug?" the woman asked finally, and Castiel raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh! I apologize," Castiel said, folding his menu. "No, the salad should be quite enough, thank you. And if I'm hungry, I'll just steal some of my boyfriend's platter, won't I?" Castiel added, trying to smile as Dean had at the waitress. She raised an eyebrow, chewing her gum loudly.

"Alright, hon', I'll be back in a sec'," she said indifferently, and sauntered away towards the main bar.

"So," Dean said, tapping his fingers against the table. "Cool place, so far," he said, looking around the bar.

Castiel glanced at the inexplicable mix of nautical and old western style decorations. He could not keep the perplexed expression off his face, apparently, because soon Dean was bursting into laughter at the table.

"You should see your expression, dude," Dean said, still chuckling. "You coulda said you didn't wanna come here, man!"

"No," Castiel protested, shaking his head, "it's not that, it's just..."

"What? Wait, shit, are you allergic to shellfish or something?" Dean said, a half horrified, half amused look on his face. Castiel shook his head.

"No, of course not, I would have mentioned that," Castiel said. He smiled wryly. "I just..." He paused, eyes catching on a clock on which a cowboy hat toting seahorse served as an arm. He huffed a bark of laughter.

"Dean," he said, eyes coming back to his date. "This place is absolutely ridiculous."

Dean laughed loudly, right hand coming to rest on his belly as he leaned back into the hearty chuckle.

"That it is," Dean agreed, beaming up at the poorly decorated walls around him.

"Doesn't this just scream Americana, though?" Dean asked, shaking his head as he too seemed to notice the clock. "The whole place is just completely random. And cowboys and ocean themed? It's like they picked the two things that were least likely to go together in the world. But it somehow works. I love it. It's just fuckin' awesome!"

Castiel couldn't help but smile at the way Dean described the bizarre eatery.

"Have you been here before?" he asked curiously, frowning a little. "You sound like you know this place. Unless Jack Silvers are a chain I was unaware existed..."

"No, no," Dean said. "I mean, no I haven't been here specifically, but yeah I've been to Des Moines before."

Dean's cheeks turned inexplicably red as the waitress arrived with their food.

"Thank you," he said, tipping his head to the blonde haired woman. She smiled, bored, and left without another word. Castiel smiled a little incredulously, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation.

"Alright, so," Dean said, after they had both dug into their meals. His mouth was half full of deep fried fish steak, whatever that was. "I think we should get to the bacon festival early tomorrow morning, stay there most of the day, then drive back tomorrow night if we want. What do you think?"

Castiel chewed his bite of salad before answering.

"Or," Dean added quickly, a drop of tartar sauce on his lip. "We could do the bacon festival, see where we're at, and maybe stay another night so we can get a good head start tomorrow. Huh? Huh...?"

Castiel shrugged.

"We can do whatever you like Dean," he said sincerely. "I'm just glad to be spending time with you."

He smiled at Dean, who looked around the bar shyly, ducking his head.

"Aw, c'mon Cas," he said, fiddling with his fork. He looked up to find Castiel looking back at him with a genuine expression.

"Me too," he muttered, shoving a hand onto the table where Castiel's was poised to take a sip of his beer. He grabbed Castiel's hand and squeezed it once, eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled at him.

"But, anyway," he said, letting go of Cas' hand to tap the table lightly. "What's the plan tomorrow?"

They discussed the best strategy for attacking the bacon tasting booths the next day and what they could do on the ride back for the rest of dinner.

Walking through the lobby without touching Cas was going to be a problem. The man had insisted on several glasses of cheap wine at the seafood place Dean had suggested and so was slightly tipsy as they made their way back. Dean, who had driven home, waved helplessly at the front desk clerk, who hid a badly suppressed smile at the sight of Cas dragging Dean bodily to their room.

"Dean," Cas was saying in that rough voice. "Hurry!"

Dean just laughed as the paper bag with the wine Cas had insisted they bring home from the restaurant clinked against Cas' side when he pouted adorably in front of the elevator.

"I can't wait to get you into bed," Cas said loudly. "To see how the pink on your cheeks contrasts with the pink of your sexy little-" Dean hurriedly clapped a hand over Cas' mouth. He glanced around the empty lobby, shushing Cas and clambering into the elevator with him.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean said, his heart beat ratcheting in the wrong way. "Keep it in your pants, big guy."

Cas rolled his eyes. "I will if you stop being so damn pretty," he growled, pushing Dean up against the elevator wall as it rose through the floors.

"Ha," Dean laughed weakly as the door dinged their floor. "I'll do my best..."

Dean all but fled from the elevator, willing himself to calm down. He couldn't tell if it was the combination of the tight, enclosed space, the smell of hotel cleaner, or the words themselves that did it, but he was drawing in deep breaths in order to stay focused on which door was theirs.

"Don't be an idiot," he muttered to himself as Cas followed closely behind him. When he ran his hands around Dean's waist, wine bottle still in hand, Dean tried his best to react the way he usually would.

God, Dean had been waiting for hours, hoping to find some time alone, wishing Cas would press him down into the nearest hard surface and deal with the seemingly never ending frustration that built up whenever Dean was in his very presence. It had been torture, watching the man lick grease off his chin after a fast food stop, feeling him rub circles into his thighs through the denim in the car, thinking about what those long fingers would feel on his skin. And now... Now Dean was going to choke like a chump.

Nut up, Winchester, he thought desperately as the key reader flashed green and they all but tumbled into the room. Castiel barely registered setting the bottle down on a decorative table, pushing Dean forward and kissing his neck while he took off his own shirt.

And it worked, for a while. Castiel shed his pants and Dean was momentarily distracted by the sharp jut of Castiel's hipbones and the thick muscles of his thighs. He looked good enough to eat, and Dean couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight. When Castiel noticed, he smiled a predatory grin and came closer.

Dean swallowed a little nervously, but quickly divested himself of his shirt, throwing it to the ground without breaking eye contact. Castiel brought two palms up to Dean's chest. Dean bit his lip, unable to keep from looking down at a nearly naked Cas.

Castiel kissed him, short, quick, while he unbuckled Dean's belt. Soon enough, the whoosh of leather slipping through denim loops sounded and Castiel dropped to a crouch in front of Dean, who stayed standing, wide eyed and watching. Castiel gently lifted Dean's feet, one at a time, out of the pants now pooled at his ankles, gaze trained downwards. Blue eyes luminous in the darkness of the room, Castiel shifted his stare to Dean's face as he kissed his shin. His mouth left wet trails that cooled in the air conditioned hotel air. Dean shivered, heart racing in the stillness. They were still standing halfway to the bed, Castiel's serious expression cutting through the frantic start to their actions. Castiel never stopped staring, mouth twisting back into the pleased smile he wore earlier as his mouth passed Dean's knee. His lips barely brushed Dean's skin as his tongue traced his inner thighs to finally stop at the edge of Dean's lacy, pink, panties.

Dean shifted his weight under Castiel's gaze.

"You can," he found himself whispering. "You can just take 'em off..."

Castiel frowned up at him, running two fingers delicately over the soft material. Dean bucked into the light pressure, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. Fuck, me, his brain supplied helpfully. He couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question so he kept his mouth firmly shut.

"Would it," Castiel started, but his voice rasped. He cleared his throat before starting again. "Would it be alright if I left them on? Just for a while longer..." Castiel looked up at Dean tentatively. It was a far cry from the commanding hurricane that had pushed Dean up against the wall in the elevator. Dean felt almost dizzy from the shift in demeanor.

Unable to speak, both incredibly turned on and slightly hysteric from Castiel's gentle touches against the scraps of lace and satin, Dean simple nodded, licking his lips again. Castiel finally broke eye contact to close his eyes, head bowed for a moment. When he looked back up at Dean, it was with pure adoration in his eyes.

"You are so beautiful," Castiel said quietly. He shook his head disbelievingly. "I do not know what I have done in my life to deserve such a gorgeous, giving man..." He ran reverent fingers over Dean's thighs, rubbing up and down and staring at the friction as if he touched spun gold.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean said. But instead of the annoyed, commanding tone he attempted, the few words came out as a whine. He blushed, skin going hot and cold. Though he had definitely done a lot of kinky shit with girls and even some guys who paid enough in the past, Dean had never stood so long under such intense scrutiny; especially not in this kind of attire. Panties weren't really the kind of kink you brought up at a one night stand, and Johns were usually looking for a quick fuck. No one had ever looked at Dean the way Cas did now, and it made him want to burrow into the covers and never come out.

He had wanted to share this with Cas, to show him that Dean could be trustworthy, that Cas meant a lot to him... But standing here was both thrilling and terrifying. Coupled with the unnerving feeling he had encountered in the lobby, Dean felt disorientated, raw. "Just," he said, voice wavering. "Do something, would you?" This time, his frustration definitely bled through.

Castiel frowned again, standing up suddenly. "On the bed," he said, manhandling Dean so that he faced away from him and guiding him towards the large mattress. "On your hands and knees, please."

Dean complied immediately. Following orders. That was something he could do. That was easy. He could be good for Cas.

"When I tell you to do something, I expect an answer, Dean," Castiel said, tone warning. Dean nodded, staring at the stark white bedding already. He couldn't see, but he felt the dip of the mattress that meant Castiel had followed him to the bed.

Dean felt the sharp sting of a slap through the satin of his panties.

"What was that?" Castiel asked, hand already soothing the affected skin through the material.

"Y-yes," Dean answered shakily, holding onto the duvet for leverage.

Castiel kissed his back, draping his body over Dean's. "Good boy," he said against Dean's ear. Dean swallowed a moan. He felt Castiel's lips on the shell of his ear, heard him whispering a littany of praise. "So beautiful," Castiel whispered against the skin of Dean's neck. He felt his skin burn from embarrassment, but also pleasure at being praised. Then, suddenly Castiel pulled back and sat up straight so that the heat of his body left Dean cold. Dean bit back a whimper at the loss, nerves fraying at the silence, the stillness. Should he say something? Was he allowed to? He bit his lip, hard, in order to stave off breaking the rules he didn't fully comprehend yet.

Castiel ran a hand down Dean's back, resting it just above the waistline of his underwear, his thumb toying with the lace band. Dean pushed his ass up into the touch, ignoring the vulnerable feeling expanding in his chest; attempting to distract Castiel into doing something. Fuck/, it had been a long week and Dean wanted to forget, just forget it all; the weird apprehension, the funeral, the disappointing talk with Sammy... If Castiel would just fuck him he could shut off his brain for a second and pretend he was worthy of this perfect man's attention, his affection.

Castiel tsked, running his hand back up Dean's spine to the nape of his neck. "Not yet," Castiel said, chuckling and grasping Dean's neck a little tighter.

Dean resisted for a second, heart pounding and throat constricting in panic when he realized Castiel was stronger. He ducked his head instinctively, squeezing his eyes shut and planting his face into the mattress. As soon as he took a gulping breath in the sheets, he realized what the nervous energy was when he checked in, he understood the crawling feeling under his skin.

He had been here before.

Logically, statistically, it was improbable that Dean had been in this exact hotel room, with these exact sheets, in the exact same position. In fact, he remembered that it had been room 702, not 403 and he remembered having his feet planted on the floor at the time.

But logic wasn't playing a huge part in his thought process.

It wasn't this exact hotel room, with these exact sheets, or even the exact same position. But it was the exact same fake lemon detergent, the exact same moderate thread count, bland white duvet, the exact same feeling of Dean's throat constricting, of his air supply diminishing, of his body sweating. He wanted to badly to be able to be good for Cas. God, why couldn't he just be good at something for once in his goddamn life?

His breath came in shorter and clenched his fists as he tried to keep it together. He distantly felt his body shaking, though he had not given it permission to do so, and soon thereafter, the weight of Cas' body on his back was lifted. Dean wasn't sure if he was relieved to be able to get back up on his elbows or further distressed by the loss of Cas' warmth. Unable to stop himself, Dean let out a dry sob, heaving in a huge breath.

"Dean," he heard Cas saying, and he could tell by the look on his face when he turned around that this wasn't Castiel's first utterance of his name. "Dean!" Castiel stood at the end of the bed, clearly conflicted between wanting to approach Dean to comfort him and giving him space so he could breathe normally. Join the club, Dean thought bitterly.

"Cas," he managed to say through a deep breath.

"Yes, Dean, what is it? What can I do?" Cas asked, but Dean didn't have an answer for him because his mind was spinning and he felt like the bed was tilting. He tried to gulp down some more oxygen, but his lungs were already full. He sat up, facing the headboard, and tried to get his breathing under control.

Stop. Panicking, he thought, clenching his fists at his sides. His knuckles brushed against the silk of his panties and another wave of humiliation washed over him. What had he been thinking? He was disgusting, perverted. He had wanted Cas to see him, to want him. He had wanted this; another cockslut just begging for a ride on some guy's dick. Michael had seen it. Alastair had known it. They had both seen Dean for what he truly was. Trash. And Cas was deluded to think anything otherwise.

Beautiful. Gorgeous. Those words didn't belong to the heaving, sobbing mess on this pristine white bed.

Dean shivered, pitching forward as he saw black at the edges of his vision.

But then two arms wrapped around his chest, palms flat against his pectorals and a chest steady at his back. Dean leaned back into the solid figure, eyes still shut and breath coming in short gasps. The solid figure, who dean came to realize was probably Castiel, just breathed behind him. Slowly. Steadily. So that his chest rose and fell in a rhythm against Dean's back.

As Dean slowly came back to himself, he heard the words Castiel was murmuring in his ear.

"Ok," he said. "Slowly now. Breathe, Dean. That's it, sweetheart. You're doing well, just breathe..."

The pounding in his ears reduced slightly as he concentrated on the low rumble of Cas' voice, breathing automatically matching up to his, head clearing progressively. Dean was eventually able to take deep breaths on his own, so he gently wiggled out of Castiel's grip. Turning around, he sat facing Castiel, eyes downcast in shame. Castiel brought a hand up to his cheek, wiping away a stray tear. Dean's face burned.

"God," Dean said hoarsely, sniffling. "I'm pathetic."

Castiel didn't answer, but instead took Dean's hand in his own and kissed it. Dean snatched it back, the panic swelling in his chest again.

"Hey," Castiel said, a finger tapping Dean's chin. Dean looked up warily. "Stop that."

Dean sighed.

"I'm," he started, running a free hand through his hand and closing his eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry, Cas."

"There is no need to apologize, Dean. I am the one who did not... I should have been more clear. We should have discussed this earlier. I didn't think..." Castiel shook his head, gazing up at Dean with large, limpid eyes. "I'm sorry. I was so overcome with..."

"No, seriously. I'm an idiot. I should have said something before... This room, it just..." Dean bit his lip, looking conflicted. Castiel squeezed his hand, gazing at him encouragingly. Dean shook his head.

What was the right way to say: hey, listen, I used to turn tricks in a hotel just like this and even though I teased you all day and wore pretty little panties, I apparently can't handle my shit enough to follow through, 'cos I'm an asshole. Dean sighed, tugging at his hair a little in frustration.

"What..." Castiel began, closing his mouth halfway through his next word. "Do you- would you like to talk about what happened?"

Dean knew Castiel probably understood more than he was willing to tell, but the thought of confirming Castiel's suspicions, of telling him about how he was used, how he became an object, something bought... Dean felt nausea roil in his gut. It was one thing to run out of options, to sell your body for food, for shelter. Dean had chosen to leave a home, his brother, for some fucked up psycho who promised to make him forget his life. And Dean had believed him. How could he have been so stupid? Once he was gone though, once he got wind of Sammy doing fine in college, well, it was easy to convince himself that this was all he was good for. It was easy to believe Alastair when he reminded Dean that he had chosen this life, that he was worthless, that his family was better off without him; the dropout cockslut who couldn't get a girl so he went chasing after men like some kind of deviant.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair to put all that on Castiel. He had lost his father, he had grown up in that lifeless family, and still he had so much light. He had asked his sister to check on his bees when she got back to Lawrence for Chrissakes. The guy was a fucking saint. And Dean? Dean was poison.

He shook his head, unable to form words. Castiel nodded, and got up. Dean's head snapped up, unable to keep the fear out of his gaze. Fuck. Did this mean Castiel was done with him? Was that it? Castiel had waited a month or so and Dean wasn't putting out, maybe couldn't put out, so that was it. Done. Fin.

The yellow lemonade stand, the golden boat of a car, visions of Castiel bent under his kitchen table in nearly nothing but his apron all flashed before Dean's eyes as he tried to think about staying in Lawrence without Castiel. He would have to change markets, perhaps avoid the part of town in which Castiel lived; that wouldn't be too difficult. The gaping hole in his chest might pose a problem, but nothing sex, booze and food couldn't stave off until... Until when? Dean pushed the horrifying prospect of continuing to exist without the weird, dorky little dude he had met barely a month ago in his life.

Castiel grabbed the suitcase he had barely unpacked, moving to the shower to pick up the toiletries he must have set up when he showered and stuffing them unceremoniously in its front pocket. Dean hung his head, sighing. He couldn't even properly enjoy the free hotel room seeing as the smell of the sheets still made him nauseous. He glanced at the complimentary popcorn on the kitchen table morosely. Well, maybe he could swipe that before he left for the nearest bus station. There was no way in hell that Dean was taking a plane home now.

Castiel brought his rolling bag to the door, dropped the handle and came back into the room. Dean squeezed his eyes shut at the inevitably awkward goodbye.

After a few moments, he noticed Castiel was still moving around the room. Had he forgotten something else? When Dean dared to open his eyes, Castiel was rifling through his duffel.

"Whoa, hey!" Dean said, jumping up to stop him. "Listen, ok, just cos you're leaving doesn't give you the right to fucking take my shit!"

Castiel looked up from his crouched position over the bag questioningly. He shook his head frowning, and pulled out a pair of pajama pants, a pair of boxers, and a grey Henley. Setting them aside, he began to put the clothes strewn on the floor back into the duffel, laying it on the bed half open and looking at Dean expectantly. When Dean didn't respond, Castiel put his hands on Dean's shoulders. Dean stiffened at the touch, but didn't fight it. Letting Castiel guide him gently to the bed, he ended up lying back on the clean covers. Without a word, Castiel delicately slipped the panties off his body, folding them delicately and tactfully ignoring the small stain on the front, and placing them in the duffel bag. Dean stared, confused, as Castiel took the boxers he had picked out and began to slip Dean's feet through the leg holes.

"Wh- Cas!" Dean protested, attempting to stop him. Castiel just slowly slid the underwear past his knees. "I can dress myself!"

"I know that," Castiel responded, tapping Dean's thigh so that he could lift the boxers up under him. Dean lifted his body, face still scrunched up in confusion.

Once Dean was dressed, Castiel placed a soft kiss on his forehead and turned away to gather their things. He picked up the phone on the nightstand, speaking quietly into the receiver, then turned on the TV to some infomercial, muting the sound. There was a soft knock at the door about a minute later, and Castiel got up to answer it. Dean looked on, still confused. Had Castiel called a cab?

"Dude," Dean started, but Castiel turned around and shook his head.

"Stay here," Castiel said, grabbing their bags and answering the door. Dean laid his head back on the rumpled duvet, staring up at the beige ceiling, bewildered but too exhausted to question the sequence of events. So Castiel wanted to leave on a good note, wanted Dean to feel precious even as he gave up on him? Well, he needn't bother. Dean was fine, he knew what he was. He didn't need the bells and whistles; rejection was rejection.

Castiel came back after a few minutes without their bags and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Tell me when you're ready to leave," he said after a moment, and Dean lifted his head at that.

"What?" Dean asked, and Castiel touched his foot, thumb resting on his ankle bone.

"There's no rush. I had the houseman put our bags in our car. I told them we would not be staying the night. I'm not sure if you want to stay here or drive through the night to get home, but I will gladly follow you whatever you decide," Castiel explained, sitting patiently at the end of the bed.

Dean shook his head, still not sure he was comprehending.

"You're not leaving?" Dean asked, confused.

"Do you want me to?" Castiel asked, tone surprised, hurt leaking into his voice. As if he hadn't even considered the option of leaving without Dean, but was ready to do whatever he asked.

"I..." Dean answered, bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes. The skin of his face had tightened with dried tears and he sighed at the feeling of rubbing it away.

Castiel got up, expression uncertain.

"No!" Dean cried. He blushed, covering his face again. "Sorry, just... Don't leave."

Castiel was on him in a second, hands coming up to rub his shoulders, strong arms framing Dean's body.

"I won't," Castiel said against Dean's neck. "I promise I won't."

Dean sighed, relieved. He took a deep breath into Castiel's collarbone. The hint of lemon clung to their skin.

"Let's go," Dean said, making to get up. Castiel followed suit immediately. "Let's just... Find another hotel that doesn't smell like damn fake lemons."

Castiel's eyes went wide at that and he stopped in his tracks.

"Dean," he said seriously, stopping Dean before he could pass him to the hall.

"What?" Dean asked, concerned.

"You said..." Cas brought a hand up to his mouth, expression horrified. "Dean, were you pretending to like my lemonade?"

Dean gaped at him. Of all the times and places for this...

"What? Cas..." Dean said, genuinely confused. Castiel still looked horrified.

"You said lemon scented, I..." he replied, eyes already turning apologetic. Dean stared, still confused for a moment.

"Oh," he said, understanding. "No, Cas, baby..." Dean started, then realized that he was truly lying then. But his hatred of lemonade had nothing to do with the fake, generic cleaning products used in hotel chains across the Midwest. Cas was already slumping in relief, however, as he took Dean's hand.

"I thought perhaps you had been swallowing down something that reminded you of..." Cas stopped himself, looking sheepish.

Dean shook his head, vehemently. He bit his lip, debating whether or not to confess the truth; that he simply hated his boyfriend's main source of income... But he couldn't live with the guilt of Castiel thinking he had in any way caused Dean that kind of discomfort.

"I'd take a drink of your lemonade over this fake ass smelling cleaning shit any day, Cas," he said, and that, at least, was the truth.

"I wish we were back in Lawrence," Castiel said quietly, squeezing Dean's hand and kissing his shoulder through his thing shirt. "I would make you lemonade and get you to finally meet the bees."

"Yeah, baby," Dean said, leading them out of the godforsaken room. "Me too."

They ended up moving to a new hotel; an independent, homey looking sort of building with the words Dragonfly Inn written on the quaint little sign outside. Castiel asked the sleepy attendant to show them a room. He had Dean sniff the sheets, even made him stand in the room alone, much to Dean's annoyance, before accepting the key from a baffled receptionist.

"Cas, it was just," Dean started, but wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. Cas ignored him. He'd barely said anything since they left the wretched chain hotel, but Dean didn't mind the silence. What was there to say? He wanted to apologize. God, what kind of fucked up must Dean have been to not recognize the room straight away? How did he let it get so far before saying anything? And how pathetic was he that he couldn't have sex with his fucking boyfriend?

Cas squeezed his hand and led him to the bed, pressing a kiss to his forehead before telling the receptionist that they were not to be disturbed under any circumstances. "If the hotel is burning down, clean up our ashes in the morning," he growled. "Is this clear?"

"Got it," the receptionist reluctantly acquiesced, and left the doorway hurriedly. Dean heard Castiel close and deadbolt the door

In a second, Castiel was lying on the bed next to Dean, his fingers twitching in his lap as he looked at him with wide eyes.

"Aw, c'mon, Cas," Dean complained. "You gotta stop looking at me like that..."

Castiel turned to the ceiling so that Dean could only see his profile. His very worried, very unhappy profile.

"Dean," he said softly. Dean watched as he swallowed. "How are... What- what can I do?"

Dean brought a hand up to his face, shame and self-hatred battling for dominance in his chest. Cas deserved so much better than being with someone who couldn't even articulate his feelings properly. Not to mention the fact that Dean was basically impotent at this point.

"I fucking hate him," Dean blurted, hands clenching into fists. He felt his eyes prick at the admission, and bit his lip as if he could take it back. Castiel turned to look at him, eyes wide but patient. "But, fuck, Cas. I hate myself more."

Dean had been staring up at the wallpapered ceiling, eyes following the hideous floral design that was papered on every visible surface. At least he couldn't worry about this inn resembling any place Alastair had taken him; the receptionist had tiredly prattled on about their handmade quilts upon check in. For some reason, though the change of sleeping arrangements had been nothing more than a large blur to Dean, the useless fact that each quilt had taken the owner over 129 hours to complete had stuck in his brain. He attempted to unclench his fists from the detailed fabric at the though, irrationally worried he might mess that up too.

Cas didn't answer, but he shifted closer to Dean and ran his knuckles over the soft material of his T-shirt.

"There's nothing you can do."

The words escaped Dean's mouth before he could stop them again, and he willed his brain to shut up. Castiel frowned, his expression heartbroken and forlorn in an instant, his hand frozen at Dean's side. Castiel looked back up to the ceiling, face slowly turning blank.

"Fuck, no. I didn't mean it like that! Just..." Dean sighed as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Cas, what the fuck are you doing, man?"

Castiel's nose scrunched up in shock, or perhaps confusion, and he turned to look at Dean sharply. Before he could protest, however, Dean spoke.

"I mean," Dean said. "I mean... Cas, why are you even here, man?"

Castiel's mouth actually parted, and Dean struggled to come up with a better explanation.

"Your brother Michael... He sort of had a point. I mean, you've spent like eighty percent of our relationship patching me up; what's in it for you? You stood up to your family, you gave up this huge family fortune, and now you're living in some bumfuck town dating this highschool dropout who can't even put out. Hell, I haven't even called you my boyfriend yet. I can't even admit that to my damn self, and I spent half a year taking dick for money..." Dean paused to take a breath, closing his eyes as the truth spilled unbidden from his lips. "God, and the worst part is sometimes I liked it. You know? Takin' orders, makin' bank for what? Lettin' guys call me pretty? I could do that. Sometimes..." Dean's voice broke, but he forced his eyes open to look Castiel in the eye. "I got off, sometimes. I did."

Castiel remained silent, but his eyes were gentle.

"See? What the fuck, Cas! Don't look at me like that. I can't take it!" Dean said loudly, shoving Castiel a little. The anger at Alastair, at himself for the choices he made, at Castiel, for caring... His emotions twisted in his stomach as his heart rate picked up again. "Why are you still here?"

Castiel still remained silent, running his hands up to stroke Dean's cheeks, expression still soft, patient. Dean let out a frustrated sob.

"Just leave, Cas," Dean said, eyes moving up from Castiel's chin to meet his piercing stare. "God, why won't you just leave me?"

Castiel just shook his head, frowning, and pulled Dean's face closer.

"You are so intelligent," he whispered, kissing Dean's forehead. Dean opened his mouth to protest but Castiel covered it with a hand while carding the other through Dean's hair, continuing. "You are so bright," he said, kissing Dean's cheekbone. "Your laugh... I could listen to that laugh for the rest of my life," Castiel added, staring at Dean, whose face burned at the words. Castiel nodded, even though Dean didn't say anything.

Dean made a noise of protest from behind Castiel's hand. Cas sighed and moved his hand.

"Be silent," he warned, removing his hand and replacing it with his mouth for a moment. Once he broke the chaste kiss, he kept speaking despite Dean taking in a breath in preparation to say something. "The way you care for your brother," Dean scoffed at that, but Castiel gave him a stern look. "The way you cared for me, when I needed you; no questions asked." Dean blushed uncomfortably under Castiel's gaze, shifting his weight when Castiel kissed an eyebrow. "You are surprising, funny, refreshing... The time I spend away from you is validated only by the recounting of it I get to tell you."

Castiel pulled back a little so that Dean could smell the pine air freshener of the room mixed in with the scent of Cas' shampoo. He stared at Dean seriously.

"When I tell you you're beautiful, that you're worth it, I mean it," Castiel said, rubbing a thumb over Dean's bottom lip. "I care about you."

Dean bit his lip, his throat burning as he felt a few tears roll down across his nose. Castiel wiped them away without breaking eye contact.

"Now," Castiel said, as if he hadn't just broken Dean. "Rest," he ordered, manhandling Dean so that his head was in the crook of Castiel's arm. Cas kissed Dean's hair. "Tomorrow will be a different day."

And Dean smiled despite the ache in his chest. Because Castiel hadn't said it would be better, or new, or in any way an improvement on today. But he said it would be a different. And that was enough.

The next morning, Dean woke up to the sound of Castiel showering. Groaning as he stretched, the shaky feeling of vulnerability left over from last night made him shiver with mixed shame and anxiety. Dean was right, though, after all; he knew he was. Castiel Novak, though he might change his name and run away from home, was important. He had a family that owned like a billion companies. He had the chance to make a real difference in the world. He was gorgeous, and smart, and fucking perfect. So no matter what Cas said or did, Dean knew he would never be good enough for Castiel Novak.

His thoughts were interrupted by the man himself emerging from the shower in nothing but a very small, very pink towel. He smiled shyly at Dean as he caught him staring, his grin turning lascivious when Dean didn't look away.

Yep. Perfect.

"Shower's free," Castiel mumbled, sitting down on the bed as Dean peeled the shirt he had fallen asleep in off his back.

"Cool," Dean said, still uneasy. Castiel huffed and leaned forward, practically pouncing on Dean.

"Let's just... forget about last night, ok?" Castiel said, nosing at his jaw.

Dean considered his words for a moment, before nodding. "Yeah," he said, a smile forming on his lips. He could do that. Dean Winchester was a master at forgetting things on purpose. "Alright, I can do that."

"Alright," Castiel said, and pulled back to beam at Dean. Dean ignored the pink tinging his cheeks and placed a kiss on Castiel's cheek.

"I'm sorry, though," Dean murmured against Castiel's ear. "About last night," Dean added, as if it needed to be said. Castiel shook his head.

"I'm not. It wasn't your fault, and I will remind you every day of how amazing you are, Dean Winchester. If that's what it takes," Castiel said, voice low and fierce. Dean blushed harder, squirming.

"I'm gonna go take that shower now," he said, pulling away to hide his discomfort. "You better not have hogged all the hot water!" he called.

"Early bird and all that!" Castiel quipped back before Dean closed the door.

After they had taken part in the continental breakfast served on a ridiculous amount of doilies in the lobby, Dean eyed Cas with a grin as they entered their room to pack.

"So..." he said, lips stretched into a large smile.

"So..." Castiel answered, checking the room to see if they had left anything behind. Check out time was approaching quickly.

"Anything planned for today?" Dean asked coyly, eyebrows raised.

Castiel regarded him with an unimpressed look.

"I thought we were going to the precious bacon festival..." Castiel answered, to which Dean's smile grew impossibly larger. "Unless, of course, you changed your mind?"

"What? No!" Dean replied quickly, frowning. Castiel smirked. "You little shit, will you hurry up? I heard the best bacons go first and I wanna try all of them!"

Castiel chuckled as he picked up a stray sock from underneath the bed.

"It never hurts to be prepared!" Castiel said, throwing it onto Dean's packed duffel bag.

"Right, and if we want to stay the night, we can, I know..." Dean replied tiredly. Stomping his feet a little, he pouted. "Can we go, now, Cas?" When Cas still regarded the room patiently with an attentive eye, Dean scowled. "Please?" he asked, drawing out the word into several syllables. Castiel smiled wolfishly.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, dear," Castiel said, and shouldered Dean's bag while rolling his own out too.

"Hey, I can one of those!" Dean said, following him out. Castiel just batted his hands away.

"Ladies first," Castiel simply replied, indicating for Dean to enter the elevator doors once they arrived. Dean scowled some more.

"Fuck, you're pretty when you pout," Castiel muttered, shaking his head as he entered after Dean. Dean's frown turned to a smirk, and he wrapped an arm around Castiel's waist possessively.

"Damn, you're pretty when you swear," Dean said, kissing Castiel's neck. He pulled away quickly though, when the doors opened to the lobby. "But you know what would make you even prettier?" Dean asked, as he opened the door to the parking lot for Cas.

Castiel shook his head, smiling.

"Bacon!" Dean cried triumphantly, and popped the trunk for his boyfriend.

Castiel rolled his eyes but placed the luggage inside and opened the door to the passenger seat.

"Onwards!" Dean cried, and started the engine with pure glee written all over his face. "To the bacon!"

Castiel just shook his head indulgently as they peeled out of the parking lot.

It was late afternoon by the time Dean had dragged a smirking Castiel to every bacon booth at least twice. The entire set up took place in a large airplane hangar, with various stands, each advertising some concoction more ridiculous than the last. Though he should have been lethargic from the obscene amount of grease he consumed that day, Dean was just as excited near the closing of the festival as he was at the beginning. Castiel couldn't bring himself to be anything but indulgent. It helped that Dean blushed an appealing shade of red every time Castiel insisted on hand feeding him whatever type, shape or flavour of bacon offered to them. The highlight of the day had by far been when Castiel had plucked a bacon rose from a stand and offered it to Dean in front of three giggling young girls. Dean had stared at him, gobsmacked and flushed, and glanced at the girls wide eyed. Instead of downplaying it, however, he grabbed Castiel and kissed him, the greasy treat on a stick held carefully in his free hand. Castiel hadn't been able to wipe the grin that followed off his face for the rest of the day.

Dean was relishing the taste of the hickory maple variant, mumbling something about classics, when an announcement sounded signaling the close of the festival for the day. Dean looked longingly at the booths, licking his lips, but his hand dropped down to hold Castiel's as he suggested they leave before the crowds.

"So," Castiel said, standing beside the passenger door questioningly. Dean had finally stopped talking about how he wished he could bring some home, mourning the lack of a cooler in the car and debating the merit in buying one for such an occasion.

"So," Dean responded, biting his lip.

They were at a decision point. They could stay another night, but Castiel knew Dean's anxiety from the night before, as well as the pending fight he had had with his brother Sam were weighing on him. He refused to pressure the man, especially after the revelations of the previous night. If Dean wanted to stay, he would say so.

"I, uh," Dean started, hesitating. "I think we should head back to Lawrence."

Castiel's heart sank a little, his face clearly betraying him as Dean bit his lip again in consternation.

"Don't look at me like that!" Dean protested. He sighed. "It's dumb... I just..."

"What is it?" Castiel prodded. Dean shrugged.

"It's stupid," Dean repeated, rolling his eyes. "I miss Sammy..."

When Castiel didn't respond straight away, Dean huffed an embarrassed laugh.

"Not that he'd ever let me live it down if he knew I said that... But, uh, remember that deadbeat dad I was talkin' about the other day?" Dean asked, voice shaking a little.

"Yes," Castiel agreed gently, wishing there wasn't a car between them. Dean shifted uncomfortably on his feet, fingers tapping absently at the window frame.

"Well," Dean started. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak. "It's, uh..."

"You don't have to share," Castiel said quickly, worried about breaking their tenuous peace. Dean looked at him, frowning.

"Well, I wanted to," Dean said, unsure.

"In that case, please do," Castiel replied, just as quickly. Dean tilted his head and squinted at Castiel.

"Well," Dean said slowly, licking his lips reflexively. "My dad's... He..."

Dean frowned again, looking up at Castiel with an unreadable expression as he closed his mouth.

"You know what?" Dean said, clapping his hands on the roof of the car one last time. "Not worth ruining bacon day."

He pulled on the handle of the door and got into the driver's seat, leaving Castiel to hurry to do the same on his side.

"I think we should drive home today," Dean said, staring straight ahead at the windshield. Castiel leaned forward a little in order to catch Dean's eye.

"Okay," Castiel said slowly, uncertain. Dean turned to look at him with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Worried about being in close proximity with me for that long again so soon?" Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows. Castiel chuckled weakly.

"You're the one who should be worried," he replied loftily, and that at least got a real laugh out of Dean. Castiel felt the tension in his shoulder ebb slightly at the sound.

Dean started the car, and they began their drive in semi-comfortable silence.

Around the second hour, Castiel began to squirm in his seat. Dean had turned on the radio several times, only to turn it back off when it inevitably played an upbeat pop song. When he did it for what must have been the sixth time, Castiel sighed.

"What?" Dean asked brusquely.

Castiel grimaced. "Nothing," he said lightly. "It's just.."

"What?" Dean repeated aggressively.

"Nothing, I'm just tired," Castiel replied shortly. It was Dean's turn to sigh.

"If you got somethin' to say, just say it, Cas," Dean said through gritted teeth. Castiel rubbed a hand across his face in frustration.

When had they begun arguing? What was once easy silence between them had turned sour, and Castiel's heart ached for the delighted look on Dean's face earlier in the day. Even the open vulnerability of the night before, painful as it had been to get to that point, would have been preferable to the hunched shoulders of a tense and unhappy Dean.

"Can we stop?" Castiel blurted, instead of answering Dean's taunt. Dean looked surprise for a moment, before nodding curtly.

"Alright," he said, sitting up a little in his seat. "I'll find the next rest stop."

The next rest stop turned out to be nothing more than a gas station and some questionable restrooms, but Dean headed inside and emerged with two little boxed apple pies a few moments later. Castiel stayed inside, despite their stop being at his request.

He was still trying to figure out what exactly he was going to say when Dean shoved the pie into his lap as he entered the car.

"Truce?" Dean said gruffly, still not looking at Cas.

Castiel regarded his lap, where the pathetic pie sat, warming his skin through the denim.

"No," Castiel said, putting the pie by his side. Dean looked over, shocked.

"Come here," Castiel said, pulling Dean closer and nuzzling his neck. He placed a gentle kiss against Dean's parted lips. "Truce."

Dean smiled, looking down.

"I'm sorry..." Dean started, but Castiel stopped him.

"It's been a very, very long trip," Castiel said. He looked at Dean fondly as the man toyed with the apple pie in his lap. "And honestly, I just thought we should stop for a moment. Take a breath. I don't want this time together to end on a sour note."

"Yeah," Dean said. "It's not your fault. Not really. Sammy and I fought about my dad... I'm pretty sure you heard us arguing. So I've just been... I don't know. Part of me just wants to get home and fix it with him, y'know? But another part of me just wanted to..." Castiel saw Dean's ears turn pink. "Stay in bed with you for like, ever."

Dean gave another nervous chuckle at the admission, hand coming up to stroke his hair.

"Yes, well, we have beds in Lawrence," Castiel reminded him, nudging his thigh with his knuckles. Dean looked up from his lap and smiled back at Castiel.

"I'm scared too," Castiel said softly. "But wouldn't it be nice if we were scared together, instead of just terrified all on our own?"

Dean smiled a little wider, shifting the Lincoln into gear.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Dean was still restless after their pit stop, but he ignored the nervous energy underneath his skin. He had almost told him. He had almost explained what needed to be done when he got back, almost asked Cas if he could be there for it. But he had choked. He remembered how quickly Cas had said he didn't have to share. The hazy memory of the night before had come rushing back to him in that moment. Cas said he didn't care, that he wanted to be there for Dean... But wanting to be there for someone was different from actually listening to all their shit for hours on end without a break. Dean had shut up quick, then. There was still time to tell Cas about John. Maybe not today.

Cas had made them stop and Dean had known. He just couldn't get past it though. The pie helped, and so did Cas' sincere confession that he was scared, even though that didn't make a lick of sense to Dean. But still the feeling of inadequacy, of holding Cas back, settled in his stomach like a dead weight.

Still, it eased a little every time Cas smiled at him. It eased even more when Cas quietly took out his sketchbook, working away in happy silence for a while. Once finished with his work, Cas stared down at his lap, blushing, until Dean insisted upon seeing his latest doodle.

It was Dean's turn to blush when Angel Dean was depicted sleeping nearly naked in bed, except for a pair of panties with a small bow right above his ass. Dean's eyes widened at Cas' cheschire grin. There was no mistaking the resemblance, down to Dean's hated love handles and the freckles on the curve of his backside. Dean glared at Cas, who just smiled quietly to himself and kept drawing. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, resisting the urge to pull the car over just so he could kiss that stupid smirk off Cas' face.

God, it had been a good few weeks, being with Cas. It wasn't long enough.

As they got closer and closer to Lawrence, however, Dean felt his patience slip. Every shared glance, every shy touch just felt like another blow to this armor he had constructed around the truth. Dean tried to reason around it, but his mind came to the same conclusion each time: Castiel was rich, he was smart, he was too good for someone like Dean. Most importantly, Castiel had the chance to run a huge company. He had a chance to help people in a concrete way. Right now, with Dean, the most Castiel could do was offer a smile and some change for a sweet and sour beverage on hot day. With his family's company... Castiel would have so much more power.

"What would you do as CEO, Cas?" Dean found himself blurting, as they turned off the highway onto the smaller service road.

Castiel closed his sketchbook and tilted his head, considering. Dean waited patiently, knowing Cas' answer would have to be well thought out.

"I expect I would be taking care of the affairs, dealing with employees, managing our financial assets," Castiel said thoughtfully. Dean nodded.

"Would you, uh, change anything?" Dean asked carefully. Castiel raised his eyebrows.

"Yes," Castiel said almost immediately. "A lot," he added.

Dean chuckled weakly. "Yeah? Like what?"

"Ah, there is so much I would like to do..." Castiel smiled wistfully. "Just imagine that instead of merging and selling large companies like oil producers and car manufacturers, if the Novak family business was known for supporting small businesses in getting loans. Imagine if we partnered with companies that existed already and used our capital to increase and improve upon struggling foundations that provide services to the less fortunate..." He looked down at his lap, embarrassed. "It would take a lot of work though. I'm not sure I even have the expertise to be in a position of such power anyway."

"If anyone could do it, Cas, you could," Dean said confidently. Castiel beamed up at him.

"Your support means much to me, Dean," Castiel replied. "Thank you."

"I'm serious!" Dean protested, unable to stop himself. "It shouldn't even be a question at this point. It's a no-brainer, Cas."

Castiel laughed then.

"You flatter me, Dean. I admire your complete and utter confidence in me, but there are many reasons why I am uncertain about this decision," Castiel said, doodling aimlessly on his page as he spoke.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, mentally kicking himself while simultaneously taking perverse pleasure in proving himself right all along. "Like what?"

The car was rounding the exit to John's house. They had decided to both stay there overnight since Dean would have to be dropped off anyway. Neither of them mentioned why they needed to spend the night together, rather than apart in their own separate living arrangement, but the consensus was clear, if completely unspoken.

"Many reasons, Dean," Castiel said, and he wasn't laughing anymore.

Dean recognized the evasion, but refused to drop the issue. "Name one reason not to take the job, Cas," he said finally, glaring at the familiar road to John's house.

Castiel frowned at his notebook, looking up to stare pointedly at Dean's profile.

"One reason?" Castiel asked, crossing his arms. "I never took you to be a seeker of empty compliments, Dean."

Dean huffed, shaking his head. "I'm serious!" he said, ignoring Castiel's confusing turn of phrase. "What's one good reason for you to stay here in Lawrence?"

They had rolled to a stop in front of John's house, and Castiel was unbuckling his seatbelt.

"I thought it would be obvious that at least one good reason to stay in Lawrence is, well, you," Castiel said, pausing in his movements to stare at Dean.

But Dean didn't stop moving. Despite the warmth that suffused his chest at the spoken admission, he yanked on the door handle, exiting the vehicle so that Cas couldn't see his face.

"See?" Dean said, the word coming out jagged, rough. "And you say I'm not holding you back..."

Castiel got out of the car too, frowning as he made sense of Dean's bitter muttering.

"You think my wanting to stay here and be with you is somehow a bad thing?" Castiel asked, pulling his suitcase out of the back seat and tilting his head at Dean.

Dean lifted both hands up and raised his eyebrows.

"Well?" Dean asked. "You sayin' it's not?"

Castiel opened his mouth to argue, but Dean wasn't done.

"I'm the only reason you can come up with for not running a goddamn multi million dollar company and you're tellin' me that don't sound a little messed up to you, Cas?" Dean said, voice rising in volume. "We're not even dating."

Dean regretted saying the words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done and he watched Castiel's expression change from confused sadness to cold, detached anger.

"Well, we've known each other less than a few months, anyway," Dean backtracked. Castiel let go of his suit case, turning to face Dean as the weight of the luggage tipped it over.

"You know, you're right, Dean," Cas said, his tone matter of fact. "We haven't know each other a long time. We haven't made the decision to date exclusively. We haven't talked about our relationship." Dean swallowed as Castiel drew himself up to his full height. Despite the fact that Dean knew he was at least an inch taller than the man, he suddenly felt very, very small. "We've taken it as slow as possible at your somewhat unspoken request." Dean opened his mouth to protest, to accuse Cas of being insensitive to his needs. He had agreed to this. Dean had warned him. But Castiel silenced him with a look and continued. "And that hasn't bothered me. In fact, I have told you, repeatedly, that I, more than most, understand living a double life. I understand coming to terms with your sexuality. I understand being uncertain." Castiel's gaze softened at his gentler words, but his stance remained strong.

"But do not, for one second, presume that you are the only reason for my decisions," Castiel said, fury turning his voice into a growl. Dean swore he felt himself sink an inch into the pavement. "I am a person. And perhaps it may have escaped your notice, but I have come to value you as a person, Dean; a person with thoughts, motivations, beliefs. A person who is beautiful and interesting and bright; but also a person who is flawed. Honestly, I would appreciate equal treatment. At the very fucking least."

Dean lowered his gaze, chastised.

"But besides the fact that you seem to think I exist only to react and cater to you, I would also like to point out that I care about you. Therefore, I care about your opinions. I like your input. And I foolishly thought we might be able to work together in order to decide what was best for both of us," Cas added bitterly. "I know that this is new but..." Castiel looked up at Dean then, eyes blazing with renewed heat. "I've never felt like this before. Not with anyone."

Dean swallowed, eyes falling back to the asphalt. The recent rain made the streets sparkle in the moonlight. Dean chanced a look up at Castiel and felt a pang of guilt and pure terror at the determined stare than met his.

"I," Dean started, feeling the rise of a sob in his throat. "I can't, Cas." His voice broke and he couldn't look at Cas for a second longer.

"What can I say that will make you believe me, Dean?" Castiel said finally, hands on his hips and eyes glaring.

All the fight suddenly washed out of Dean in a breath. What could he say, really?

"Nothing," Dean said quietly, expression resigned. He shuffled his feet in the streetlamp light, swallowing the guilt and pain he felt at his own words.

"What?" Castiel asked sharply, still breathless from his long winded speech.

"Nothing," Dean said again, looking up at Castiel with a bitter smile. "I don't believe you. I can't."

"Dean, wait," Castiel said, panic replacing what was once anger. He stumbled forwards a little, tripping on his upturned suitcase.

"No, you're right," Dean said, nodding his head in silent confirmation, as if answering his own question. "I don't believe you. I don't believe that you're not letting this cloud your judgment. I don't believe that I'm worth throwing away basically limitless power to do good. And I'm not. You'll see that."

Castiel just looked at him helplessly, suitcase askew at his feet and mouth parted.

"I can't believe you until you admit that I'm right. You know it," Dean said, his voice hollow. "You know I don't deserve you. You know I'm right about your family. You should go back to them, Cas. You deserve more than this life."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, some of the anger coming back to light his gaze. He advanced towards Dean.

"I'm not going to let you..." Castiel said, voice dropping to a growl. "I won't... you can't do this, Dean! A relationship is two people. This decision is for the two of us! You can't just- just..."

Castiel's shoulders slumped when he saw Dean's expression hadn't changed. Dean took a breath, as if bracing himself.

"This isn't a relationship, Cas," Dean said, and Castiel backed away on instinct, face pained. Dean's eyes hardened as he advanced, drawing himself up to his full height and ignoring the tears pooling in Castiel's eyes. "You knew that already."

Castiel opened and closed his mouth several times, taking in huge breaths of air that he exhaled uselessly without speaking each time. Dean finally turned away.

"I'll have Sam drop off your things or something," Dean said to the driver's seat of his car, shouldering his own duffel bag. Hesitating for a moment, he turned around sharply, coming up close to Castiel, hugging him. Castiel stood still as a stone, unresponsive.

"It's better this way, baby," Dean said, his voice breaking a little on the last syllable. "It's better for us both, I promise."

Castiel stood for a while longer as Dean got into his car despite the fact that they were at John's place. He numbly rolled his suitcase back to the still open trunk of his Lincoln. He bitterly stuffed it in the car, chuckling sadly at his optimism upon their arrival.

Choking back a sob, he slammed the trunk shut and moved to the driver's door. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and sat down, dialing Gabriel's number already.

"Sup, little bro!" came Gabriel's jovial greeting. Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out except a strangled cough.

"Where are you?" Gabriel asked sharply, but Castiel couldn't answer that either. His chest was opening up. He stared down at it in confusion because despite the acute pain that tore through his lungs, his clothes remained in tact without a wound in sight. He clutched at his rib cage, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to somehow quell the horrifying feeling of being stabbed in the heart. After a beat of silence, besides Castiel's laboured breathing, Gabriel finally spoke.

"I'm going to kill him," he muttered, and Castiel distant heard glass breaking in the background. "Are you okay to drive?" Gabriel added. Castiel nodded, before realizing that Gabriel couldn't see that.

"Yes," he whispered. "I think so."

"Come over," Gabriel said, without even a hint of insincerity or sarcasm in his voice. Then he hung up.

Castiel took his phone off his ear for a moment, staring at the blank screen. Then, slowly, he unlocked it and searched for a basic stopwatch. Setting the alarm for 3 minutes from then, he rested his head in his arms over the steering wheel.

"Ok," he said to himself, and sobbed at the word. Nothing would be okay again. "Ok," he repeated still, grabbing handfuls of his hair and pulling hard enough to feel the pain. "I can do this," he repeated, over and over. "I can do this," and he lost count of how many times it was said to the empty car.

Three minutes passed quickly, and soon his alarm was going off. Sitting up, Castiel wiped the tears from his face, sniffing, and placed both hands on the wheel.

"Ok," he repeated, firmer this time. "Stop crying. You had your three minutes, now stop crying."

He nodded once, and started the vehicle.

Dean got into the car. Normally, after a long road trip, he'd be sitting in bed enjoying the comfort of Netflix and covers. But he couldn't bear to get into his bed alone, so he got back into a car. At least, he had his baby. As he clambered into the driver's seat, blatantly ignoring the figure standing on the sidewalk, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of loss. God, Dean even missed Cas' car. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and shifted into reverse.

He drove for a while, unsure of what could help. He considered leaving Lawrence altogether. He almost felt resentment, towards Sam and his fucking vegetable of a father, towards himself for leaving it until now to take care of. He could have been gone by now. He could have been on the road, making a new life instead of stuck back here where it all went South in the first place. His fists clenched on the steering wheel as he tried to be angry at something, anything, rather than acknowledge the emptiness he felt beneath his ribs.

The void clawed at him anyway though.

"Listen, Dean, I didn't mean to spring this on you but, uh, I've been approved for pre-registration orientation... Call me back when you get this message, ok?"

Dean replayed the message in John's driveway. He distantly wondered when the right time to call it his own driveway would be. He had driven for most of the night, his mind restless and heart aching. More than once, he had been tempted to turn the car over to a bar, pull in, and just forget the night. But he didn't. He couldn't quite pinpoint the reason, but he suspected it had something to do with the way Cas' blue eyes appeared in his head every time he thought about checking out of his life. He may not have been worthy of Cas' regard, but he damn sure wasn't going to get there by drinking away his issues like his fuck up dad. Not that he would ever be good enough for Cas. Not that there was any possibility of fixing it.

He sighed as he rubbed his face and listened to Sam's message a third time.

Pre-registration classes. Was that even a thing?

He glanced at his phone again. The battery was low, with only about three percent left and it was nearing four in the morning. Dean nodded once to himself, then pushed open the door. He needed his four hours, then he could tackle this pre-registration thing the next day. Sammy wouldn't want him to call this late anyway. Dean ignored the panic rising in his throat and focused on the task of unpacking his duffel from the car and making sure his baby was pristine. After a fond tap on her hood, he made his way inside the house and straight into John's room.

Turning on the light, he saw the rumpled bedding and nearly reconsidered his no alcohol rule. Fuck, he thought, walking slowly towards the unmade bed. He ran a hand over the familiar linens, heart clenching in his chest. He bit his lip to stave off the burning behind his eyes as he debated staying in another room. The thought of his own childhood bedroom haunted him, after the way Castiel had looked at him when they had finished cleaning it; proud, happy, infatuated. And the thought of staying in Sammy's room, though less painful, filled him with dread about the vague voicemail he had left on his phone.

Dean divested himself of his clothing and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. He was sitting on the wrong side, technically. Though Castiel had only been in John's house a short while, they had naturally fallen into an instinctual and unspoken arrangement in which Castiel automatically slept on the right side, whereas Dean slept on the left. Feeling his eyes prick, Dean slipped under the covers on the right side anyway, inhaling deeply as he sunk into the old mattress.

God, the smell of him. Dean made a mental note to strip the bed in the morning; but for now, he simply let himself bask in the scent of Cas, Cas, Cas.

He lied in bed for a while. He couldn't tell how long, but he thought he saw the light of the rising sun before his eyes finally drifted close. He slept fitfully, in short bouts and interrupted chunks. Though he woke up without a clear picture of his dreams, each one left him uneasy, as if something horrible had happened but he simply could not remember it.

After his eleventh attempt at sleep, Dean finally decided to just get an early start to his day. The first thing he did was start laundry for the clothes he used during the trip. He emptied his duffel bag into the washing machine, then stripped the bed, pillow cases and all, to throw in too. He grabbed the bottle of Febreeze before leaving the downstairs laundry room and sprayed the bottled scent of "freshwater flora" around the house for good measure. Next, he did the dishes, by hand, despite the presence of a perfectly functional dishwasher in the kitchen. Dean even dusted the very old, very ruffled kitchen curtains, sneezing at the cloud of dust that rose from his efforts.

Finally, after he could avoid it no longer, Dean checked his phone while it charged in the bedroom. He decided to make the easiest phone call first.

"Bobby?" Dean said into the receiver when a gruff voice answered the phone.

"Who the hell else could it be, son? You're callin' Singer's Garage here," Bobby responded crossly. Dean couldn't help but smile at the surly man's words. At least he was consistent!

"Yeah, listen," Dean said, licking his lips. "I'm sorry about the disappearing act for so long..."

"Family," Bobby said, cutting Dean off. "You ain't gotta explain that to me, Dean. How's Cas?"

Dean's breath hitched at the sound of his name and he held back a sharp inhalation.

"He's... It went ok," Dean said, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood. "But I just wanted to know what's been going on at the garage since I've been gone... Still got a place for me there, Uncle Bobby?"

Dean hoped his evocation of Robert Singer's familial moniker would incur enough good will to let Dean off the hook for disappearing a bit longer than expected.

"Actually, son, there's somethin' we gotta talk about..." Bobby answered, and Dean's stomach dropped. Oh God, he thought, panicked. I'm gonna lose my job, too.

"That guy that brought in that old classic?" Bobby said. Dean made a noise of recognition. Of course he remembered it. It had only been a few days, but it felt like weeks ago. "Well the guy's been tellin' his friends about you, Dean. How you were chattin' him up about cars, how you knew what was wrong with it in the first ten seconds of lookin' at it..."

Dean raised his eyebrows, but kept silent.

"He's been tellin' his friends, you see? And it turns out, he's got a lotta friends..." Bobby continued. "Anyway, I told him you'd be out for a few days cos of an emergency, but that you'd be interested in takin' a look at some of his friends' old Camaros... Was I lyin' to him, or you ready to work?"

Dean was dumbstruck for a moment, unable to answer. Restoring classics? A reprieve from the never ending tire rotation and oil change days at the garage? Being asked for personally? He should have been thrilled, but instead he was just mildly interested. He tried to muster up enough enthusiasm to fool Bobby.

"Wow, yeah, Bobby. Thanks," he answered finally, and Bobby made a suspicious sound. "When should I be in to start, then?"

"Tomorrow'd be good," Bobby said, and Dean hummed his approval. "Alright, son, tomorrow it is."

They ended the call, and Dean fiddled with his phone. And now for the harder one.

The phone rang a few times before Sam picked up, breathless.

"Hello?" he nearly yelled into the phone. Dean hissed and held the phone away from his ear.

"Heya Sammy!" he replied, uneasy. He heard Sam curse.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice lowering. Dean swallowed nervously.

"So I'm back," Dean said.

"I see," Sam said.

There was an awkward silence in which both boys refused to speak.

"I guess you found out about Dad," Dean said.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I guess you got my message about school."

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Listen, I-" Dean began, just as Sam spoke too.

"Look, Dean," he said.

They both fell back into silence.

"Look, Dean," Sam said again. "I don't know if this is the right time to tell you this, but I said yes."

"Of course you did, Sammy! I wouldn't want you to stick around Lawrence if you could be studying down at Stanford already!" Dean said. His voice wavered slightly, so he made up for it with a hearty laugh.

"What?" Sam said, confused. "No, Dean, I mean to the hospital."

Dean's stomach dropped.

"You said yes to what exactly, Samuel?" Dean asked slowly through gritted teeth.

"They kept calling and you weren't answering your phone..." Sam answered guiltily. "They needed a date, Dean!"

"When," Dean said. It wasn't quite a question.

"Maybe you should have answered your fucking phone!" Sam answered defensively.

Dean sighed into the phone. "When, Sammy?" he asked finally.

"Next Friday," Sam answered. "The day before I leave for Stanford."

Dean cursed mentally. Less than a week.

"Alright," he said gruffly, preparing to cut the conversation short. Sam had other ideas apparently, because he spoke again.

"Dean, we gotta talk about this," Sam said, voice pleading. Dean clenched his teeth. "Come on," Sam added, his voice quiet. "It's dad, Dean. I know you're not okay. Plus I don't know where you disappeared to the past four days, but I could really use an older brother right about now."

Dean felt his anger subside at his brother's words. His mind automatically went to the four months he had been MIA for his brother.

"Fine," Dean said tiredly. Sam scoffed. "Seriously. Fine. We'll talk. I gotta go into the garage tomorrow and take a look at that damn car of yours. Don't think I forgot about those ball joints. I'll drive it over afterwards and we can talk. Alright?"

"Alright," Sam said slowly. "But Dean?"

"What?" Dean said.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, tone much softer. "This sucks."

"You have no idea," Dean said. Sam sighed on the other end of the line.

"Goodnight, jerk," Sam said after a beat, tone questioning. Dean couldn't help but smile at the familiar words from his childhood.

"Night, bitch," Dean replied automatically.

Dean hung up without another word, scrubbing his face with his hand. He glanced at the time. Barely ten a.m. and Dean had somehow found a way to free up his entire day by planning to see Sam and Bobby the next one. He scowled as he pushed down the achy feeling in his chest and focus on something, anything other than wondering what Cas was doing at this very minute.

Getting up from the kitchen table where he had decided to sit while he spoke to his family, Dean marched purposefully towards the bedroom. Yanking open his first drawer, he searched for a decent pair of boxers to wear under the sweatpants he saw lying on the floor. Pulling on a ripped Styx t-shirt, he dug through the empty duffel bag at the foot of the bed for the earphones he barely used.

Before long, Dean was standing outside his father's house, old sneakers on his feet, debating whether the embarrassment of stretching in public was worth the benefits of injury and soreness avoidance. Noticing the neighbour standing outside on his lawn, Dean decided against the awkward preparation and walked out to the road. Nodding uncomfortably at the neighbour, who simply gave Dean a bored and indifferent look, Dean started walking at a quick pace, finally skipping on a step to begin his jog.

About three minutes in, he wasn't thinking about missing Castiel. At least, that wasn't his main thought, as most of his faculties were busy screaming at him to stop, please, God, stop. His muscles screamed from under use, but Dean ignored them for the time being. In fact, he welcomed the laboured breath, the burning joints. The ache in his chest was finally attributable to a physical problem and for that Dean could be nothing but grateful. He almost understood Sam's incessant enthusiasm for the activity.

Still. Not as good as pie by a long shot.

But soon the rhythm of his breathing evened out, and the burning in his thighs subsided, and Dean felt... less bad. It wasn't quite good, but it was something to focus on other than the emptiness.

He ran until he couldn't anymore. He looked around, his breath coming erratically and his stomach heaving, to look at where he had ended up. He glanced at his cellphone and saw that a half hour had already gone by. So, he gave himself one last sprint, before walking his way back to John's house. As his body recovered, Dean felt the exhaustion of the last night's lack of sleep overcome him, and he had to pause to put his hands on his knees as the house came into sight.

When he bowed his head to rest, ass up in the air and too tired to even care, the sound of his breath was loud against the pounding of his heart and Dean found himself overwhelmed with a sense of loss.

"Fuck," he said to himself, no louder than an angry mutter. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He gulped in a steadying breath, head still between his knees, as he tried to stay focused on the self-inflicted pain rather than memories of Cas standing helpless on his driveway. But the thoughts came anyway, and he finally felt a sob slip past his lips. Frustrated at himself for losing control, Dean all but growled at the pavement, the sound turning into a whimper as he felt warm tears slide down his face.

"Shit," he said, louder then.

Dean got up, slowly and painfully, feeling the tears mix in with the sweat that plastered his hair to his face. Shaking himself, he started walking again, focusing on his baby through the tears pooled in his eyes. He nodded to himself, as if it would change what was happening.

Once he arrived at the house, Dean barely bothered to close the door behind him as he headed straight for his bed. Disrobing, Dean fell into the clean sheets, inhaling deeply, wishing he could smell something other than detergent on the spotless linens.

Dean rolled himself out from beneath the dodge, wiping his hands on the already grease stained rag and tucking it into his back pocket as he made to get up.

"She's all done!" he called out, and he heard the distant sound of Bobby grumbling from his office.

It was a slow day at the garage, but Dean knew Bobby didn't like any kind of hollering in his workplace. He didn't like mess either, and that was something Dean could get behind. The noise, however, between the clanking of various tools and machines, seemed like an easy way to piss off the old man. Dean could use a laugh these days. As expected, Bobby came stalking out of his tiny office into the main part of the garage where two other cars were parked. He waved off the other mechanic on duty today, an overeager guy named Andy, who opened his mouth to speak. Dean chuckled to himself as Bobby rounded on him.

"What you want, boy? A cookie?" Bobby said gruffly, arms crossed as he crouched down to inspect the car. It had been a simple alternator problem and Mrs. Green hadn't needed it done until Monday, but Bobby had asked Dean that it be done before Dean start on any of his "fancy old projects". Dean figured it was the least he could do for getting a few days off and Bobby's support in his budding new endeavour.

"How's it look?" Dean asked, stilling smiling. Though he itched to put his hands on the hot red Camaro he knew sat in the second garage, working on simple problems still made him feel better. Getting into the guts of cars, figuring out how it worked, making sure everything fit together perfectly; Dean loved the way he felt useful. Mrs. Green would never have known how to fix that battery light blinking on her dashboard, so Dean could convince himself he was good for soemthing, even if it was only rendering a simple service.

"Fine," Bobby said. "It's an alternator, not rocket science."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, smile widening at the praise. Well, it was praise when it came from Bobby.

"Listen, Dean," Bobby started, and Dean's stomach sank. So the punishment wasn't over. "Before you go on and take a look at that Camaro, I wanted to talk to you for a second..."

Bobby stood in front of Dean, arms still crossed and shifting from foot to foot, looking highly uncomfortable.

"Well?" Dean asked, impatient. "Spit it out, Bobby."

"Alright, son, hold your horses. I just wanted to talk about your future, here, Dean..." Bobby trailed off uncertainly. Dean bit his lip.

"Listen, Bobby, I know I've been kinda MIA and I'm real sorry about that, but I swear I can drop this whole Camaro shit and focus on break pads and oil changes for the rest of my life. I just really can't afford to lose my job right now, Bobby..." Dean rambled, ignoring his loudly beating heart.

Bobby wasn't having any of it though, because he cut Dean off in the middle of his speech.

"Drop it?!" Bobby exclaimed. "What are you going off about, boy? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! I told that guy another mechanic could take a look, but he insisted that it be you, son. Do you get that? This could be something big, here, and you're tellin' me you'd rather be replacin' hubcaps. Smarten up, idjit!"

Dean stood shocked for a moment, before the angry words registered in his mind.

"Wait, what?" Dean said eloquently. "You're not mad at me?"

"Why should I be mad at you when I've got big wigs asking me how many "thou" a Citreon DS will run 'em?" Bobby said, indignant. "I don't know how, but you've charmed the right guy with that body work, Dean."

"So what are you saying..." Dean said, frowning.

"I'm saying that maybe, y'know, you should look into this as a full time gig. Maybe take someone under your wing, get this off and runnin' and start investin' in a future here..." Bobby said. "I ain't gettin' any younger, Dean. And this garage could use a bit of a different feel to it."

"Bobby, I don't know the first thing about business owning or any of that, I wouldn't even know where to start," Dean replied.

"Well that's why you got me, kid," Bobby said gruffly, clapping Dean on the back. "Now get to work on that pretty little car back there or all of this'll just be some pipe dream and we won't have nothin' to be talkin' about anyway."

Dean ducked his head, feeling a sliver of hope cut through the blank feeling he had at the prospect of his future in Lawrence. The smile died on his lips when he remembered Cas. Would Cas be a part of that future in Lawrence? Dean couldn't imagine Cas being satisfied with selling lemonade for the rest of his life. He was so smart, so bright... Dean couldn't imagine him as a CEO either, though. Suits and briefcases and stern expressions seemed to be something that belonged to the entire Novak clan except Cas. In fact, the only way Dean could manage to imagine Cas in the coming years was wrapped around him, surrounded by blankets.

He shook the image from his brain, wakling over to check out the Camaro. His day was only half over, and he practically salivated at the sight of this beautiful, classic car just for him. It didn't matter anyway. Maybe Cas would stay in Lawrence, maybe he wouldn't. Despite the ache in his and the way his mouth got dry when he thought about it, Dean could feel better knowing he would have no influence on that decision.

Still, as he set out his tool and prepared to take a look under the hood, Dean had to actively ignore the twinge in his gut at the thought of Cas alone, so soon after his father's death. His mind was filled with the image of Cas standing beside his suitcase, mouth still open in surprise, as Dean made the choice to walk away.

He swallowed and got to work.

Even though the day at the garage had been somewhat encouraging, Dean still found it difficult to find the motivation to go meet his brother afterwards. Fifteen minutes after he hollered a bellowing goodbye to Bobby (who yelled an obscenity in farewell back), however, Dean was pulling up to Sam's apartment in his newly fixed car. He keyed in the code for the building and got in the elevator to the fourth floor. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Dean!" Sam said, opening the door wide and smiling a little awkwardly. Dean walked past him into the tiny living room. Sam's apartment wasn't a dump, but the size was questionable and the way the kitchen bled into the dining room which bled into the living room sort of set Dean's teeth on edge, especially after having the luxury of sleeping in a house for a month or so. Especially when that house was occupied, usually, by a warm and pliant cuddle buddy.

Dean dismissed his thoughts and put on his best smile too.

"Heya Sammy," he said, the familiar words rolling off his tongue with ease. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Sam gestured to the overstuffed and very orange couch. The whole affair had the lingering feeling of entertaining company and Dean winced at how much the feeling reminded him of the Novaks. Perhaps this would be that bad. Sam pulled up a white plastic chair from the kitchen table and sat, knees apart. The furniture somehow always looked too small for his gangly brother and the kid must have been eating his greens because Dean noticed Sammy looking much more buff than before. Dean tried to think of the last time they had hung out. He reddened when he realized it had been about two weeks now. He winced at the thought that he had been ignoring his brotherly duties in favor of focusing his attentions on Cas. Well, Dean thought bitterly. Not a problem anymore!

Sam cleared his throat, his jaw flexing as he settled with his hands on his knees, expression concerned.

"I feel like I should be paying you or something... You gonna ask me how I feel or somethin', Sammy? I'm gettin' a bit of a Freud vibe here," Dean said, chuckling weakly. Sam rolled his eyes, but straightened his posture a little.

"Whatever, Dean, what do you wanna talk about first? The fact that you disappeared for three days? My pre-registration orientation? Or maybe you wanna tell me about this Cas crisis?" Sam said, tone already testy. "Or wait! I know! Maybe you wanna tell me about how you've been hiding the details of Dad's condition for about 3 months now!"

Dean made a noise of surprise and frustration at the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like a whine.

"Listen, Sammy, it's complicated... I was gonna tell you," Dean said, pouting a little. "Eventually..."

Sam rolled his eyes, huffing.

"Oh calm down, Samantha!" Dean scoffed. "You weren't jumping at the chance to tell me about registering for this orientation shit either!"

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, and oh hell, they were already yelling. "I told you as soon as I could get a fucking hold of you! The last time we 'hung out'," Sam said, putting in air quotes with his hands. "You were fighting with Cas, and you ran off to meet him so you could fix it. What the hell's been going with you Dean? I thought, when you came back, you'd kinda get your shit together. I thought... I don't know man, I thought this was gonna be the summer of me and you..." Sam had lowered his voice and regarded Dean with large eyes.

"I know you met someone, ok? And I'm happy for you. Seriously. Cas has been running that lemonade stand for like, a year, and the dude is awesome. He speaks three languages!" Sam continued.

"Actually, five," Dean interjected morosely. Sam just gave him a look.

"But... I don't know, Dean. I just hate it when you disappear like that," Sam said, shoulders dropping as he ducked his head and stared at his outstretched limbs.

"I know, fuck, I'm sorry," Dean said. He sighed. "A lot of shit has happened in the past few days, it's been kind of a shit show..."

"Well then tell me about it, Dean!" Sam pleaded. Dean rubbed a hand across his face, scratching at his chin.

"Alright, well, settle in," Dean said tiredly. "It's a fucking long story."

So Dean talked. He told Sam about the bar and Castiel being too drunk to even function; about the funeral and the terrible family Castiel grew up with, and Naomi's condescending looks and stilted tolerance of Dean's existence. Dean explained about Cas' dad and the position at the company. Then he explained about the last night they were together.

"Oh," Sam said, expression pitying and clearly at a loss for words.

"Yeah. Oh," Dean said. "But anyway, that's that. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Dad... I thought.. I thought you'd wanna go to college with a clean slate. I thought maybe I could do it after you left so you didn't have to worry about it..."

"Dean," Sam started, tone exasperated.

"I know, I know. I didn't think it through. I just..." Dean looked up at his brother, whose expression was half impatient, half empathetic. "I thought it was gonna be a Dean and Sammy against the world kinda summer too," Dean mumbled, and Sam's face changed to an expression of surprise.

"Well, it's not too late for that," Sam said, smiling wryly.

"Yeah, you're fuckin' leavin' next week!" Dean replied, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

"I could blow it off..." Sam said hesitantly. Dean considered taking him up on the offer. He'd still have a month before he was alone; really and truly alone, instead of only a week like what was planned... But the look on Sam's face wasn't just excitement at the prospect of spending a month with his older brother. Dean wasn't an idiot. He knew Sam wanted badly to go to his new school, and he had promised himself he wouldn't hold his little brother back in any way. That had been the whole point of leaving in the first place, hadn't it?

"Nah, Sammy, you gotta go. It's Stanford, man!" Dean said, trying hard to let even a trace of regret leak through in his words. "Besides, you're gonna need the head start."

"Well... We'll still have this week," Sam said, expression timid but hopeful. Dean laughed, and found he genuinely was happy for his brother, despite the sadness of him leaving.

"Well," Dean said, clapping his hands and getting up. "We better get crackin' then. What should we do first? Cruise for hotties? Haunt the local joints? Star Wars episodes IV through VII?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"You're right, little bro. You need some tail before going out into the big world!" Dean said, grabbing the keys he had thrown onto the table on his way in. "Come on! We're going out!"

"Dean, it's five in the afternoon!" Sam protested.

"Who said we're going to a bar? Don't you know the best girls are at the popcorn stand on Main?" Dean was calling back at him, a foot already out the door.

Sam just shook his head, smiling as he followed Dean out.

A weight lifted off of Dean once Sam and him had that talk. Things weren't perfect, far from it, but it did settle Dean's nerves that him and his brother were talking again. A nagging voice at the back of his mind followed him for almost the entire week though; one that couldn't help but wonder, where was Cas? What was he thinking about? But Dean, ever the master of repression, pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, choosing to focus on his brotherly reconciliation and the little time he had left with Sam.

He couldn't help but squirm at the thought of another person he would be saying goodbye soon. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread and worry when he imagined the events of The Day. He had capitalized the words in his head. It was silly, Dean knew. His father had been dead to him a long time now. Still, the idea of choosing this for his father, of actively deciding his fate, was... well, terrifying. Not to mention the underlying notion that Cas would never know what happened with his father; and his father would never get to meet Cas. Although what that mattered now that he wasn't going to be in Dean's life, he could not fathom.

At least everything at the garage had been going well. In just a few days, Dean had picked up another four cars to restore, and Bobby had been busy drawing up contracts for each of the jobs. Dean couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that he was doing something he loved and getting paid for it. And not only was he enjoying his work and getting paid to do it, but Dean was getting well paid to do it. In fact, the contracts were a little appalling. So much so that Dean categorically refused to believe it. Instead, he just focused on each job as if it were his own Baby beneath his hands. It wasn't difficult, anyway. Even the Citreon, dopey and cutesy as it looked, was built beautifully. Dean's hands had itched at the sight of it pulling up after the Camaro had ben finished. Bobby was even talking about an expansion, dropping hints about Dean going off on his own. But Dean knew good things like this couldn't last, so he didn't plan on anything that big. His plan was to save up as much of this good luck as he could so Sam could have the best when he went to Stanford. No student housing mattress for the youngest Winchester; it was gonna be memory foam all the way.

By Wednesday, Dean still hadn't figured out how he was going to deal with his father though. Sam had offered to do it alone, but Dean couldn't put that on his little brother. He was supposed to take care of him. That had always been what his dad had wanted. So whenever Dean had a spare moment, between hanging out at Sam's place after work and getting up early for his daily jogs, he sat worrying about The Day. And God, it was approaching fast.

Dean had just finished texting Sam that he'd gotten home fine after he had insisted on sleeping at John's since Sam had talked about a joint jog in the morning when the phone buzzed to life in hands. Dean pressed answer without looking and smirked into the receiver.

"Miss me already, Samantha? What're you gonna do once I'm far, far away? Huh?" Dean said in lieu of a greeting.

"This is not Samantha," came a voice that was not Sammy's.

Dean stood frozen for a moment, the sound of the voice simultaneously achingly familiar and already heartbreakingly foreign. Dean picked up on the rasp underlying the growl of his voice and wondered distantly if he'd been sleeping ok.

"Cas," Dean finally breathed, the words full of surprise and embarrassingly hoarse.

"Hello, Dean," Cas replied, and Dean felt ridiculous when the sound of those two words made his eyes burn.

"Uh, what's... How have you been?" Dean asked, awkward.

Castiel didn't answer straight away. The silence stretched on long enough for Dean to wonder if he should just hang up and pretend this was another bad dream.

"Okay," Cas finally answered, as if the response had taken him a long time to formulate.

Okay.

"Great," Dean said enthusiastically, even though his voice was slightly too loud and he knew the sound came out much squeakier than he would have preferred. "I've been great, too."

Again, Castiel didn't answer straight away. Dean mentally cursed at how despite having been the person called, Dean still felt bad about the silences. He was about to make another comment, desperately wondering if the weather could be a safe topic, when Cas spoke again.

"I've come to a decision, and I would like to meet with you in order to discuss it," Cas said, his tone unreadable. Dean frowned.

"A decision?" he asked, wracking his brain for what Cas could have been talking about. "About what?"

"I have come to a decision concerning my future at my family's company and the lemonade stand I currently own," Castiel clarified, just as coolly. Dean's confusion cleared slightly, but still... Hadn't they already settled this? Cas would be better off as CEO. Everyone would be better off with Cas as a CEO, in fact. Why was he calling in order to tell Dean exactly what he already knew?

"You're leaving," Dean said. It wasn't a question.

"It's complicated, Dean," Cas said with a sigh, but Dean made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat.

"It's not complicated, Cas. You're leaving, just say it. I don't know why you called, but if you're gonna do this, God knows why, at least do it right!" Dean said angrily. He heard Cas take a deep inhalation.

"I would prefer to discuss it in person, Dean. When would be best for you?" Castiel said, ignoring Dean's taunts. Quieter, Cas added, "Please, Dean."

But Dean clenched his fist at his side, scowl firmly in place.

"Save it, Cas," Dean said, shaking his head although no one was there to witness it. "It wasn't anything anyway. We weren't... We're not anything."

"We weren't?" Cas asked, and for the first time, Dean heard hurt in his voice. The next question came out much quieter. "I was hoping... I thought, maybe... Maybe you could come with me."

Dean's skin ran hot and cold all at once. Visions of Cas, in a suit, coming home to a freshly baked pie and Dean barefoot in the kitchen flashed through Dean's mind. A much smaller lemonade stand might sit out front, a couple years down the line, for an ambitious Winchester-Novak or Winchester-Milton or whatever last name they could agree on. And, surprisingly, it was good. Dean could see it, which made it hurt even more when he had to shake his head, though no one was there to witness his silent refusal.

"No," Dean said, biting his fist as he paused. "Just friends, right?" He didn't wait for an answer to that, just kept talking through his tirade. "So we touched each other's dicks, it's not like we're married, ok? It would never work anyway, Cas. You're free now. You can do what you want. It's better this way. You can save the world. You don't need me to do that."

"Dean," Castiel protested, but Dean didn't need any more of those damn images of mailboxes and beehives in his brain right now.

"Seriously, Cas. It's okay," Dean said, voice softer. "You're gonna be a great CEO. Kick it in the ass!"

When Dean's voice broke on the last word, he didn't have the heart to continue the conversation. He hung up and sunk into a dining room chair, his fist muffling the sound of his sob as he fought tears, alone in his dad's kitchen.

Dean did his best to concentrate at the garage, but the sleepless night and hours of debate over whether or not to call Castiel had him yawning and spacing out while he worked. Even the Citreon couldn't take his mind off the day before and the upcoming dreaded day. Dean was so distracted that even Bobby noticed, hovering suspiciously in the back end of the garage where Dean worked on the older models and glowering down at Dean. Dean worked hard under his scrutiny, but his heart wasn't quite in it.

"What's going on with you?" Bobby said, after his third round into Dean's work space.

Dean sighed.

"I got a lot on my mind right now, Bobby..." Dean said, rubbing his face over before realizing it was covered in grease. He shook out a dirty rag and rubbed that tiredly across his cheek, blushing a little.

"I can see that..." Bobby said, raising his eyebrows. He coughed and shifted on his feet. Dean looked up at him worriedly. "Your brother called."

"Ah," Dean said. Bobby cleared his throat.

"John was a good friend of mine," Bobby started, but stopped himself.

"I know," Dean said, biting his lip.

Both men regarded each other for a moment.

"If I go home now, I'm scared I'll..." Dean looked up at Bobby from where he was still crouched under the car. "I'll probably end up at the liquor store," Dean finished in a rush. Bobby nodded curtly.

"Your work day ain't finished so I don't know why you think you're goin' home, son," Bobby said gruffly. Dean rose from his perch. "Don't waste your time tryin' to fix this old girl with all that on your mind. You're gonna ruin her, and then ruin me by association!"

Dean smiled weakly at Bobby's words.

"Come on," Bobby said, rolling his eyes and turning around. "I've got way too many oil changes to do and I'm s'posed to be a manager here, not some grease monkey like the rest of 'ya crazy kids..."

Dean followed Bobby to the nearest car. He pretended not to notice as Bobby sent Andy home, then returned to tell Dean they were short handed so he wouldn't be doing any of his "fancy shit" today. Dean smiled gratefully and got to work on the Toyota's oil.

Even with the lessened pressure of oil changes and tire alignments, Dean felt antsy. The day dragged on at a turtle's pace, and he was tapping his fingers impatiently on the hood of the car he was working on near five o'clock. Finally, Bobby made his final inspection and approved Dean's work.

"Dean," Bobby said, before Dean could walk away. "Are you gonna be alright, goin' home?"

Thinkin' about raiding that liquor store, again? was the unspoken question here. But surprisingly, Dean wasn't. In fact, he'd been so annoyed at the last car's finnicky transmission that all he'd thought about was sleep.

"Yeah," Dean said, maintaining eye contact to make sure Bobby knew he was okay. "Sam's around. I might call him."

Bobby nodded once, released his shoulder and putting his hands in his pockets.

"You know my number if you need anything," Bobby said, and Dean figured that was the most heartfelt dismissal he'd get from the man, so he left.

Once Dean was on the highway in the impala, he was tempted to keep driving. The itch to leave his problems behind was always right behind his fingers, so instead of acting on it, Dean pulled off at the nearest exit. He was close to John's house; in fact, he had taken the exit to the grocery store he had been frequenting since his return from Illinois. He parked in the lot and got out of the car. The weather was uncharacteristically grey, and it made Dean think of endings. It was August already, which meant summer would be ending soon. September meant fall, it meant beginnings for Sam and his schoolmates, it meant a new beginning for Cas... but it would mean the beginning of a new life for Dean. A life alone.

Dean shook off the morose thoughts and headed in the store. Unsure of what his goal was, he picked up ingredients at random. After ten minutes of wandering the store, Dean looked down at his basket. He had grabbed flour and cinnamon, as well as a pint of vanilla ice cream. Shaking his head, he decided to brave the vegetable section of the large, cold store. It seemed his subconscious wanted pie, and he couldn't think of a better way to spend the next couple of hours than baking a warm apple pie.

Ignoring the display for locally sourced honey and organic fruit, Dean strode to the shiny apples stacked neatly in a pile near the pears and oranges. He felt a pang of guilt at supporting the large chain store when he knew Sammy still made his way to the farmer's market every week. Though it must have only been a few weeks since his last visit to Cas' workplace, it felt like ages since he had met the strange man at the lemonade stand. But Dean couldn't bring himself to visit the stand or the market. He wouldn't know what to do when he inevitably saw the big yellow cart and the display of fresh tomatoes. He conjured up an image of Anna staring at him sadly from behind the counter of the cart, his heart swelling. Or, maybe worse, his mind wandered to sitting on the picnic tables and watching an empty lemonade stand, strangers walking by and asking each other who owned the stand and why it was inactive...

Dean had picked up enough apples, so he headed to the check out, pushing the thoughts of Cas and his recent revelation to him out of his mind. He bought his supplies and nearly jogged to his car, the fluorescent lights of the supermarket suddenly giving him a headache, their mocking light over perfect fruit making Dean nauseous.

The drive home was spent with his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, his teeth worrying at a sore spot in his cheek where he had bitten through the skin. Upon finally arriving at John's, Dean simply put the ice cream in the freezer and made a beeline for the bed.

Dean awoke four hours later. It was nine in the evening and he felt wide awake. He had dreamed about Cas again; he could still feel the hug of a dark haired child as Castiel looked down on them with a crisp black suit. The idea both appealed to him and somehow repulsed him. Dean felt like he couldn't remember the sight of Cas, pink shirt and ripped jeans, and all that was left to replay in his mind was Castiel Novak, CEO.

Dean sighed as he got up from bed, shrugging out of his jeans and slipping on a pair of sweat pants and a soft grey Henley. He padded to the kitchen and surveyed the dry groceries he had left on the table. Struck with inspiration at the sight, Dean ran back to John's room for his laptop, bringing it to the kitchen and setting up his music library. If tonight was going to be another sleepless one, he planned to at least enjoy the insomnia as much as he could.

Thirty minutes later, Dean was kneading dough while the Allman Brothers Band played in the background. He absently mouthed the lyrics, swaying his hips as he flattened the dough into his mother's old pie dish. Though it had been years since her death, the thought of Mary watching him now made him smile. Despite everything, Dean couldn't help but tear up at the thought of losing another parent. Losing Mary had been tough, it had ruined John and scarred Dean... But losing John, too. Somehow Dean felt angry. He'd lost John a long time ago, anyway.

He sang the song a bit louder, peeling the apples and slicing them to add to the cinnamon and sugar mixture in a bowl he had set aside. He opened the fridge to find the lemon juice he had bought last week. He'd felt too awful to buy the lemons from the supermarket and even though the taste of fresh lemon juice was always better, he hoped his choice wouldn't ruin the pie completely. He added a little sugar, just in case.

Soon enough, the pie was baking in the oven and Dean was brushing flour off his sweatpants. He ran a hand through his hair, cleaning up the dishes and ingredients quietly as the song changed from the high paced tune to a Lynyrd Skynyrd ballad. Once the kitchen was back to its spotless state, Dean sat at the table, drumming his fingers on the table uselessly. Glancing at the clock, he was shocked to find it was so late. Judging from the time left on the oven clock, the pie would be done near midnight.

Suddenly, irrationally, Dean felt as if time were running out. Right before midnight. Midnight would mean it was Friday and Friday was the last day. He wondered if he should be doing something; going to the hospital maybe? Begging for more time? It was irrational. It was pointless. The appointment wasn't at midnight. They still had time. Dean was supposed to go over by midday and meet Sam there. They had decided to stay apart tonight, having spent the week hanging out with each other and suddenly Dean felt as if that was a mistake. He needed to do something.

He fiddled with his laptop, watching the time run out on the oven timer.

Finally, finally, the timer dinged. Dean was on his feet in a second. He took out the pie, blowing on it, and set it on his mother's cooling rack, his hands shaking a little. Running a hand back through his hair, he turned off the oven and stood helplessly staring at the steaming dessert.

He wasn't even hungry.

He checked the clock again. Ten to midnight. Midnight.

He grabbed his keys on the kitchen table, opening the freezer and taking the pint of ice cream still in the grocery bag. Hands nearly full, Dean juggled the treat and an oven mitt, taking the pie with him too.

"What am I doing?" Dean said to himself as he pulled up.

Driving there had taken way more time than it normally had. He hadn't forgotten the way, but the three times he had decided to turn around and go home definitely added to the length of the trip. He was here now though.

"Fuck it," Dean said, getting up and out of car and striding to the door of the small house. He knocked, softly at first. Then, when that garnered no response, he rapped harder. He heard something crash inside, and then the door was opening on a very sleepy, very grumpy face.

"Wha- Dean?" came the voice Dean had been imagining for a week now.

Dean nearly burst out laughing. The sight of the strange lemonade stand owner once again in his underwear, rubbing sleep from his eyes, was so god damn familiar that Dean didn't know whether to smile or cry.

"Do you not own clothes-" Dean started, but Cas was already pulling him in by his neck collar.

"Hi," Dean said, once inside.

Cas stared at him.

"Hello, Dean," he replied.

Once again, Dean was hit with a wave of nostalgia and heartbreak he wasn't quite expecting. In fact, he just stared at Cas for a moment, taking him in. His blue eyes were wide now that he had rubbed the sleep out of them, and his hair was still the mess it had always been, if a bit worse than usual. But Dean knew it was only because Castiel had just woken up. For one, he was still in his boxers, and for two, Dean recognized the muss in his hair and the way he hugged his chest, as if subconsciously wishing he still lay in bed surrounded by blankets.

Dean was snapped out of his wandering thoughts when Castiel tilted his head (fucking adorable) and frowned. Cas opened his mouth to speak and Dean braced himself for the inevitable questions.

Why are you here? What do you want? Did you change your mind?

And Dean still hadn't figured out what his answers were to any of those questions. So he inhaled deeply and widened his stance a little, a determined look in his eye as he watched Cas' face flit from emotion to different emotion. Finally, it looked as if Cas had settled on a response because his face went completely blank. He looked at Dean, then took one of his hands in his own, and started marching towards the stairs.

"Uh, Cas?" Dean asked, at a loss.

Castiel shook his head, looking back at Dean as he climbed the stairs. "Be silent, please," Castiel responded simply. Dean's mouth clicked shut at the clear order, his palette suddenly bone dry.

"But, Cas, I have ice cream..." Dean protested again. Castiel finally looked at what Dean was awkwardly holding. Seemingly surprised to find Dean encumbered by grocery items, he immediately took them from his hands.

"Thank you," Castiel said, expression still unreadable. "Stay," he ordered, and Dean couldn't find it in him to be angry about being treated basically like a household pet. In fact, the idea of being Castiel's pet sounded... pretty nice.

Cas returned before Dean could think about that idea any longer, and he took Dean's hand again, leading him up the stairs.

He followed Castiel's lead without another word.

When they approached the bedroom, however, Dean made a noise of protest. Castiel stopped immediately and turned back towards Dean, standing in the unlit doorway to his bedroom. Dean could see a pile of boxes beside the closet and felt a pang of guilt, sadness, or maybe renewed lust at the romantic notion of the temporary; he couldn't really tell.

"I assumed you had come here to talk. To tell me to stay or to convince me to go, I'm not sure; but I guessed you might have come here just to talk and not listen," Castiel said finally, his words quiet and low, his eyes still wide, but tinged with a determined edge.

Dean made to answer, but apparently Castiel was not finished.

"So, I don't want to listen to what you have to say either," Castiel said, the defiance in his eyes making the unearthly blue shine in the dim lighting. "In fact, I don't want to speak at all."

Castiel moved his hands down to Dean's sweatpants waistband. Dean felt... well, nervous. Not exactly against the idea of shutting up and finally getting to touch, safe in Cas' house, Cas' bed, Cas' arms. But...

"But what about the pie?" Dean blurted half jokingly as Castiel rucked up his shirt to let his fingers play along Dean's stomach. Dean had worked hard on the dessert, after all. It shouldn't go to waste...

Cas smiled in a way that made Dean's eyes widen.

"We'll have the pie, too," Cas said walking backwards towards the bed, hands around Dean's wrists.

"So what you're saying is that we're gonna have the pie and eat it,-"

Dean's poor joke was swallowed by Cas' hungry mouth.

"Shut," Cas said, between hard kisses to Dean's mouth. "Up."

Dean let himself be led to the bed, feeling at once sated and starving by and for Cas' touch.

"Cas," he said, breathless, his hands roaming along Cas' tanned skin, his thumbs fitting so perfectly into Cas' hip bones that Dean wondered distractedly if that was their originally created intention. He pulled at Cas' hips at the thought when Cas clambered onto the bed and over his body.

"Take your fucking pants off, Dean," Cas said.

Dean laughed at Cas' annoyed frown, coupled with his ridiculous bed head and the red imprint of the arm Cas had apparently fallen asleep on before answering the door. How could one man be so simultaneously cute and sexy, Dean didn't know, or particularly care as he divested himself obediently of his sweat pants. He silently congratulated himself on foregoing underwear and -God, could you imagine?- jeans with buttons and zippers. As it was, he Dean found himself gloriously naked once Cas had rucked up his shirt past his nipples and finally gotten so frustrated that he had yanked it over Dean's head in one hard tug.

Dean was still staring at his hands that had found themselves back on this gorgeous creature's hips when he noticed Cas still. Looking up as he already felt the heat of a faint blush rising to his cheeks, he saw Cas looking down at Dean with an expression of... awe? reverence? Dean couldn't quite tell, but it made his skin hot and cold, and each point of contact between their nearly bare bodies erupted in flame. Cas drew his hand up from where it had frozen over Dean's hardened nipple and ran his thumb over Dean's bottom lip, his eyes so bright they nearly glowed in the dark room.

Dean was frozen too, lips parted and eyes wide, as he stared at Castiel wonderingly. It hurt. It physically ached to see his expression so sincere, the tears pooling in his stare as Castiel watched with intensity as his thumb traced the lines of Dean's face. Cas' thumb dipped into Dean's mouth and Dean let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He worried the small sound of his soft breath might disrupt Castiel's concentration, but it just brought the man's sharp gaze up to meet Dean's.

The look of complete devotion, of affection and awe and... Dean felt like his chest might burst from the intensity of it, so he closed his eyes, and looked up through his lashes. He closed his mouth around the rough pad of Cas' thumb, letting his teeth graze it, and watched as Cas shuddered.

Almost immediately, Cas removed his thumb from Dean's mouth. Dean made a small sound of protest, but Cas was already reaching down awkwardly with one arm as he attempted to take off his boxer briefs while still mouthing at Dean's neck. Dean lifted his hips and hissed as his cock brushed against the bare skin of Cas' abdomen. Cas paused in his movements, his eyes fluttering closed as his hand hesitated in its descent down his thigh. But with a swallow and a shudder, Castiel got back into action, his underwear finally pulled down and off his ankles and his bare hips crashing against Dean's.

"Oh, God!" Dean cried out, bringing himself up against Castiel's warm skin again.

"Don't," Dean said, but he had to pause to take in another breath. "Don't stop... You feel- fuck, baby, yes..."

Dean couldn't stop the words falling out of his mouth as Castiel thrust against him.

"W-wait," Castiel said, and Dean would have felt smug at the way Cas' voice broke if he himself hadn't have been so busy with the thoughts yes, please, and God running a loop in his brain.

"What?" Dean snapped, his hips not quite stilling as he groaned in frustration. Cas moved so that the air hit their sweaty skin as they separated. They lay on their sides, Dean's eyes still squeezed shut in pleasure as every roll of his hips brought the tip of his cock in contact with Castiel's smooth thigh. Castiel made no move to reciprocate, though. Dean whined.

"Just..." Castiel brought a hand up to Dean's chin and grasped it firmly, bringin it down so that Dean no longer had his head thrown back. He opened in eyes, half surprised, half annoyed.

"Just what, Cas? Come on, sweetheart, I've been thinking about this for..." Dean groaned again, losing his train of thought when Castiel's mouth formed a feral grin at his words.

"Please," Dean said grabbing Castiel's free hand where it was gripping his own thigh and bringing it to Dean's heaving chest. "Cas..." Dean tried, brushing Castiel's hand over his nipple, thrusting a little at the touch. He bit his lip, looking up at a mesmerized Cas, trying his best to maintain eye contact. Cas licked his lips. Dean heard a small sound that highly resembled a whimper at the back of Castiel's throat.

Fuck, Dean thought, not for the first time since he had met the lemonade stand owner. This man's mouth.

Gathering his courage, pushing thoughts of goodbyes and issues and whatever the fuck they had standing against them, Dean smiled as sweetly as he could manage before schooling his expression into complete and utter innocence.

"Please..." Dean said again, this time softer, and closer, so that his panting breath bounced off Castiel's lips. Dean was close enough that he could see Castiel's pupils dilate, his tongue poking out as if to taste the air Dean exhaled. "Sir."

Castiel's mouth parted in surprise. For a moment, it seemed as if Dean had broken the man. Cas lay stock still, not even blinking, his eyelids drooping over lust stricken eyes, as he stared at Dean for what must have been a full minute. Dean chewed on his lip anxiously, waiting patiently for Castiel to apparently reboot.

Then Dean was rolled over on to his back, with Castiel hovering over him, thrusting madly at his thigh as Dean felt bites and licks trail a way down to his hip. Dean was breathing fast, his heart beating widly in his chest as he tried to adjust to yet another change in pace.

"Oh my God, Cas," Dean breathed as Castiel licked at his inner thigh, ignoring his crotch to move back up to his hipbones. "You're like a freaking sex tornado or somethin'..."

Cas raised an eyebrow at that, his mouth forming a small smile as he slowed in his kisses and brought himself up to face Dean. Pushing his index against Dean's lips, he looked pointedly into Dean's eyes.

Be silent, Cas' look said. Dean nodded, though he tried to communicate through his expression his doubts about his ability to keep quiet in such a sitatuation. Cas smiled as if he understood.

"I want to..." Cas said, looking down at Dean's naked body in a way that somehow made Dean blush.

There was something almost analytical in the way Cas' eyes roamed his chest, flicking to where a scar gleamed in the moonlight from when he had gotten into a particularly dangerous fight on the road with Alastair; down to his hipbones, between which Dean knew a little fat had accumulated so that a pudge stuck out even when he laid on his back like now; then back up to Dean's arms, where the freckled skin Dean knew was probably pink from embarrassment and arousal.

"I want to watch," Cas said finally, climbing off Dean so that he sat back on the bed, his knees folded neatly to the side of him. Dean bit his lip, the burning in his cheeks so strong he wondered if spontaneous combustion was in his near future.

"Watch... what?" Dean asked faintly, even though he already knew the answer. He brought his arms up to cover his chest as he spoke, but Castiel gently pulled them off.

"You," he said softly, sincerely. Dean felt his heart pick up again, breathing laboured as he tried to stay still at such an adoring look. Castiel noticed, putting his hand on Dean's heart as if to calm the pounding there.

"Tell me what you want," Castiel said, his hand on Dean's chest soothing the rising feeling of guilt and worry there. "Tell me what you've been thinking about."

Dean closed his eyes, a fresh wave of embarrassment and arousal washing over him.

"I, uh," Dean started, voice shaking as Castiel's one hand was joined by a second. "I thought about you... About what it would be like," Dean's voice broke at the last word. "About this."

Castiel hummed, placing a kiss between Dean's ribs. He traveled lower so that his breath fell upon that mound of fat Dean hated so much. Dean's breath hitched, and he hoped Castiel wouldn't make him say any more than that because between the affectionate gazes and his stupid insecurities, it felt as if he might explode if he had to say out loud what he imagine Cas doing to him, things he would never, could never truly ask for...

As if sensing his discomfort, Castiel's gaze turned soft.

"Do you want to know what I thought about this week?" Castiel asked, and Dean felt the tension in his body relax somewhat. Dean shook his head, biting his lip.

"I thought about the first time I tasted your mouth," Castiel said, fingers traveling up Dean's sides. "Do you remember?"

Dean squirmed, hips rutting a little against Castiel's hard body.

"Tell me, Dean," Castiel said, voice commanding. "Do you remember?"

"Y-yeah," Dean breathed. "Dishes."

Castiel smirked and rewarded Dean with a sharp bite to his collarbone.

"Good, Dean," Cas said, and Dean felt his cheeks flush again. "I thought about how the minute I kissed you, I knew I would never, ever be able to get enough of you."

Dean's breathing hitched and he shut his eyes, overwhelmed.

"You're breathtaking," Castiel whispered against Dean's lips. He moved to Dean's neck, licking the light sheen of sweat forming on his nape.

"For so long I was taught about worship as a form of thanksgiving," Castiel continued, pausing to kiss and lick Dean's heated skin. "I was taught to honor God through song and prayer, so that I may restore my transgressions, the sin of my flesh..." Castiel paused for a moment, gripping Dean's thighs and pulling them apart to form space for himself there. Dean let himself be manhandled, eyes still closed. "And if touching you is transgression, I will gladly repay my penance... But Dean, this isn't be sin, I know that. I never knew true worship until I tasted your skin."

"Cas," Dean choked as he felt Cas moved down between his parted thighs.

"You're beautiful," Cas said, and Dean felt tears prick at his eyes. There was that word again, the one that made Dean's chest hurt, his eyes burn, his fingers itch with the need to distract, deflect, deny. It was so different from the double edged sword of "pretty" or "tight little ass" that weren't meant to compliment, but to cut. Castiel's words were gifts, untainted by self-service or hatred. The words uttered quietly in Castiel's dark room were meant only for Dean, to be heard and cherished.

"You're beautiful," Cas repeated, this time against his inner thigh, breath ghosting over Dean's straining cock; just loud enough that Dean could make it out over the pounding in his chest. Cas unceremoniously lifted Dean bodily then, pulling a pillow down under his ass as he smoothly pulled Dean's cheeks apart, exposing him completely. Dean shook, body tensing at the cold air in such a sensitive place, squeezing his eyes shut against the fear, the embarrassment at how hard he was. He wanted it, he wanted Cas, so badly. He was a freak, he was nothing, he was wrong...

"Let go, sweetheart."

Dean sagged at the words, warmth blooming in his chest and face. Though his desire still coursed through him, the conflict, the panic eased and suddenly it was just Cas. There was no past, no future, just Cas and his mouth and his tongue in a place that it really, really ought not to have been... or maybe it was meant to be there because Dean was shaking all over, unable to think as words poured from his mouth. God, Cas was right. Maybe this was worship; this was something, it was something, fuck.

"Cas, Cas," Dean wasn't being silent at all. He hoped God was hard of hearing because this worship was loud, even long distance. "Shit, baby, you shouldn't... I mean, you don't have to- oh, God, Cas, please!"

He was thankful that Cas' head was buried between his thighs because he was sure his expression was less than attractive as he tried to keep the flood of emotion in check. Sure enough, however, Castiel looked up, Dean's knees still resting on his shoulders, his eyes glazed and hooded.

"Fuck me," Dean blurted, before he could stop himself.

Cas smiled, feral.

"Okay," he replied. He wiped his mouth and reached over to the night stand.

"Cas," Dean whispered in the dark.

It must have been early morning by that time, but he had woken from a dream with the pressing need to see Cas' gaze, to feel him close again. It was laughable, considering Cas' limbs were wrapped tightly around Dean's body, their skin even somewhat damp from sweat at their combined body heat. Regardless, Dean felt the need to see that blue gaze staring back at him, worried that without it, he couldn't be sure Castiel was real. He batted at Cas' nose so that it wrinkled in annoyance in the man's sleep.

"Cas!" Dean said, louder. He let his hands travel under the light covers and over Cas' naked form. God, it had been good. He was almost distracted by the way Castiel's soft hair felt against his fingertips. Almost.

"Mmrgh," Cas complained eloquently, his body reacting to Dean automatically. He burrowed further into Dean's warmth, eyes still screwed shut.

"Cas, wake up!" Dean said, nosing at Cas' hair. Cas groaned, lifting his head finally to look blearily up at Dean.

"What?" he said, his voice raspy.

"I'm scared," Dean found himself saying. He hadn't meant to, but the dream and the intimacy had left him bare and Dean couldn't stop thinking about his dad. Castiel's expression changed from annoyed to concerned at the words.

"Of what, Dean?" Castiel said, and Dean felt the panic rise in his chest again.

"Of... so much, Cas," Dean said, clutching at Cas' body. "This didn't fix it. I wanted to fix it, but it didn't work."

Castiel gathered him close, shushing him.

"Hey," Castiel said. "What's going on? What needed fixing?"

"Us, Cas," Dean said and he felt his cheeks heat when tears burned at his eyes. "Fuck, I'm crying again, I'm sorry... I just," Dean took a heaving breath, trying not to let out a sob. Castiel just ran his fingers through Dean's hair without comment, humming softly. Dean coughed around a whimper, his chest aching from the effort of keeping himself together, keeping it all together this week. At the garage, with Sam, and worst of all when Dean sat alone in his father's house, thinking about Cas' hands just like this, his scent all around Dean.

"Cas, I gotta tell you something," Dean said, pulling back so that he could look Castiel in the eye. He could do this. He had to. "I didn't come here for this..." He gestured between them, his eyes unconsciously darting to the three small red marks on Castiel's clavicle.

"I know, Dean," Castiel said, biting his lip. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to pressure you into something you weren't ready for... I don't know what came over me, I just... I wanted you, I wanted you so badly, Dean. It was frightening."

Dean shook his head, despite the small heat that burst into his gut at the words, to silence Castiel.

"No, no, Cas," Dean said, bringing his hand up to hold Castiel's face. "It was... This was... amazing. Perfect. I need a fucking thesaurus it was so goddamn great."

Castiel's concern lifted a little, but he still frowned, worried.

"It's... Remember my deadbeat dad?" Dean said, his tone a little too light for the wetness on his cheeks. Castiel nodded wordlessly. "Well, he's about to be a little less beat and a little more..." Dean's voice broke and he stuffed a fist in his mouth to stop the broken sound that came out.

"Oh, sweetheart," Castiel said, his own voice breaking as he squeezed his arms around Dean's shoulders. "Sweetheart, Dean, honey..."

He kept muttering words against Dean's temple, his neck, his skin, until Dean was no longer sobbing, but instead hiccupped embarrassingly as he pulled away.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, Cas," Dean said, wiping his eyes. "I had a dream you weren't you, and I was still me, but I was alone and you never met my dad and he's an asshole, you know? You probably don't even want to meet you. He'd never wanna meet you if he was awake, but, God, Cas. I want you to. I don't know, maybe I don't..."

"Hey, hey," Castiel said, rubbing Dean's bare shoulder. Dean shivered a little, even though the room was comfortably warm. "Slow down, Dean. I want to know. Tell me what's going on."

Dean heaved another huge breath. His chest felt tight, but Castiel's encouraging stare calmed him.

"My dad. He's been in a coma for while... He was an asshole, you know? I don't know why I couldn't do it, but..." Dean sighed.

"Do what?" Castiel asked softly.

"The hospital... They've been asking me to, you know," Dean made a line with his fingers across his throat, unable to say the words out loud. "Tomorrow."

Castiel inhaled sharply.

"I wish... I don't know. I wish you coulda met him, even if he'd probably just call you a fairy and tell you to get the fuck outta his house," Dean mumbled, eyes lowered. Castiel took his hands in his own.

"I'm not busy tomorrow," Castiel said tentatively.

Dean looked up quickly, eyes wide and hopeful.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

Cas nodded. Dean grinned, and Cas couldn't help but smile softly back at him.

"I'm hungry!" Castiel said suddenly, shooting up from the bed and halfway out the door before Dean could say another word. He sauntered out of the room and down the stairs completely stark naked, which had Dean blushing all by itself. He listened to Cas rummaging through the fridge downstairs, the microwave beeping for a few moments before his bare feet were padding softly on the hardwood as he made his way back up the stairs.

"Cas!" Dean said, when the man plopped himself down onto the sheets beside Dean. The grocery bag he held was ice cold and dangerously close to Dean's naked skin. "Watch it! That's freezing!"

"I know," Cas said smugly, unwrapping the items to reveal Dean's pie and ice cream. "It's supposed to be."

Dean pawed at the plastic bag, frowning when he found it to be empty.

"You forgot spoons, dumbass," Dean grumbled, making to get up. Cas was too quick for him, though, and soon Dean was being pushed back down by a smiling Cas.

"I didn't forget them," Cas said, shaking his head. Without breaking eye contact, Cas dipped his fingers into the warmed up pie to get some filling on the tips of his digits. Dean's mouth parted in preparation, and...

"Owch!" Cas exclaimed, shaking his hand out. "Fuck! That was hot!"

"No, it really wasn't," Dean said, snickering. "Oh my god, Cas!" Dean was laughing as he opened up the pint of vanilla ice cream. "Here," Dean said, laughing still as he grabbed the fingers Cas was still shaking and blowing on and unceremoniously shoved them into the cold dessert.

"Better?" Dean asked, the last of his chuckles dissipating while Cas pouted.

"No," Cas replied, grumbling under his breath.

"Want me to kiss it better?" Dean asked, grinning suggestively. Castiel raised an eyebrow, lifting his mildly injured fingers, which were now covered in half melted icecream, from the container and bring them to Dean's lips.

Dean's mouth opened easily for Castiel's fingers, and Dean made sure to lap at the sugary treat from between them. Castiel looked like he might want to eat Dean up instead of that pie.

"Here," Dean said again, holding up the pie and blowing on the exposed filling where Castiel had made an indentation. "Should be cool enough now. Dean held Castiel's gaze as he dipped his fingers into the dish, much slower and somewhat gingerly. Castiel brought the piece of crust and apple filling up to Dean's mouth, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Dean's lips closing over his fingers. Dean closed his eyes, moaning a little at the taste of pie, and vanilla, and Cas.

"Mmh," Dean said around Cas' fingers. "Can't wait to taste you too."

Castiel thumbed at Dean's lips then, holding his bottom lip captive as he reached down with his left hand to get more pie. Instead of putting it in Dean's mouth again, however, Castiel put it in his own. He groaned around the sweet pastry as he savoured it, swallowing slowly and opening his eyes to stare at Dean- trapped by Castiel's hold on his mouth.

"Did you make this?" Castiel asked. Dean nodded silently. "It is so delicious, Dean. You're a talented baker."

If Dean had any blood flow left, it would have lit his face up in a flush of pleasure at the praise. As it was, he went on gazing at Castiel's face as he brought another piece to his own lips. Dean felt as if he was parched, having to watch Castiel eat and not touch.

"Taste," Castiel said, still holding his bottom lip firm as he moved in for an open mouthed kiss.

It should have been gross to taste the remnants of pie in Castiel's mouth. It should have weirded Dean out to lick them off Castiel's tongue, the flavours of spit and heat and cinammon all bursting together in Dean's mouth. But it wasn't; God, it wasn't. Dean moaned around Castiel's mouth. Without breaking their kiss, Castiel reached down and took another generous helping of pie. Dean closed his eyes and lost himself to the sensation and taste of Castiel's fingers intertwining with his tongue as warm apple pie was pushed into Dean's open mouth.

"Oh my god, Cas," Dean said, breathless, when Cas stopped sucking on his lips to trail vanilla icecream down his neck and onto his chest. Cas paid him no mind, however, his eyes raking over Dean's heaving chest, fingers trailing in the sticky mess. "What you do to me..."

Dean arched up so that he could push Castiel backwards, hoping to repay the favor or even the playing field, but Castiel pushed him down into the mattress effortlessly. He licked a stripe of melted icecream up from Dean's ribcage to his clavicle, the creamy white liquid pooling at the corner of his mouth. Dean whimpered at the sight, his wrists pinned down by Cas' strong hold above his head.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean said, hips thrusting into air as Castiel continued to spread sugared substances over his naked flesh. "Fuck, I woke you up to... Oh! Fuck! To blow you or - yes, fuck, baby you can, yeah, Cas, mark me- return the... nngh, favour!"

Dean was determined to get his thought out despite the way Castiel's mouth had latched onto his nipple, hard. Castiel had been so patient with Dean, so loving. Dean had wanted to do the work, and yet here he was, being pleasured beyond reason once again.

Castiel stopped sucking a mark on Dean's chest long enough to look up at Dean and tilt his head in confusion.

"I don't understand..." Castiel said, frowning up at Dean as if they were discussing possible paint colours for the living room. As if Castiel's mouth and chin weren't glistening with sugar and cinnamon and melted vanilla icecream. Fuck. Castiel expression suddenly cleared. "Oh!" he chuckled. "You think that watching you come apart under my hands is some sort of chore that needs to be repaid."

Castiel outright laughed at that, looking heavenwards as if sharing a joke with God himself, and continued licking at the mess on Dean's torso. He paused again, mouth twisting in regret as it disconnected with Dean's skin and he looked up at Dean. Eyes blazing, he let go of Dean's wrists and guided one of his hands lower. Leading Dean's hand to his crotch, a jolt ran through Dean at the feel of Castiel, hard, wet, and aching.

"Do you feel that?" Cas asked, thrusting a little into Dean's hand and eyes fluttering as he let out a small moan. "Feel what you do to me, Dean," he said, voice low and and commanding, eyes burning into Dean's once again.

Dean did not whimper... very loudly, anyway.

"I'm," Dean started, but found he had to inhale rather sharply as Castiel took him in his mouth briefly. "I'm a mess..."

Castiel smiled from behind Dean's hard cock, teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

"Yes," Castiel said, running his fingers through the liquid pooled at Dean's bellybutton. "I've made a very big mess out of you."

"And the sheets," Dean supplied helpfully.

"Indeed," Castiel agreed, leaning forward to lick at the soft skin of Dean's stomach.

"It's gross," Dean complained half heartedly, as Castiel continued to lap his skin.

"Revolting," Castiel said between hums of delight. "We should get you clean."

Dean smiled, pushing himself up onto his elbows just as Castiel's tongue brushed the tip of his cock teasingly.

"Hmm, maybe," Dean said, making Castiel look up suspiciously. "But you're already all clean..."

Castiel was caught off guard, and Dean used the opportunity to flip their position so that he was on top.

"Your turn, baby," Dean said playfully.

When Dean awoke, it was in Cas' guest bedroom. He was pleasantly sore and still enveloped by a very warm, very pliant Cas. Groaning happily, Dean let himself smile as he thought about the pie, the ice cream, the shower, the very dirty sheets... Castiel hadn't even batted an eye at the complete disaster that was his bedroom.

"That's what guest rooms are for," Cas had said, shrugging as he stripped the bed of its dessert covered sheets dutifully before dropping his towel into the laundry basket and marching an incredulous Dean to the other room.

Slowly, slowly, the afterglow of good sex and 6 feet of perfect lemonade stand owner began to fade as he remembered what events had led him to last night.

"Ugh," he groaned, much less happily, as he attempted to shut out the world with blankets.

"Dean?" Castiel said, his voice muffled by a pillow.

Dean wiggled out of Castiel's grasp, grumbling and reluctantly making his way to the bathroom.

"Dean!" Castiel said, sitting straight up in bed.

"I'll be right back, baby," Dean said. He winked on his way out.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" Dean asked for the third time.

"Yes," Castiel said calmly. He was behind the wheel of the impala because Dean had felt too jittery to drive.

"Because you can just drop me off, you don't need to..." Dean started for the millionth time.

"Dean," Castiel said, and Dean snapped his mouth closed.

"Thank you," he muttered, and Castiel dropped a hand to squeeze Dean's between them. His other hand turned the wheel so that they pulled into a parking spot in the hospital's lot.

Sam was waiting outside, dressed in slacks and a button up. Dean looked down at Cas' ACDC shirt and his ripped jeans, suddenly embarrassed. It was absurd. Who was there to watch? It wasn't ceremonious. It was a goddamn death party. Was the dress code supposed to be suit and tie?

"Why'd you go all Connecticut casual on us, Sammy?" Dean said by way of greeting. Sam shrugged and the tips of his ears turned red.

"I don't know, man... I was so nervous..." Sam replied, and Dean swallowed.

I know, he thought morosely to himself. God, don't I know.

Out loud, he simply grunted and rolled his eyes, walking past Sam into the hospital. He turned back when he noticed no one was following him and he saw Castiel give Sam a hug, his fingers grasping the ridiculous white dress shirt Sammy wore tightly. Dean's chest ached at the gesture, and his mind spun out fantasies of Cas and Sammy nudging each other at the end of a pew lined aisle.

He shook his head, clearing it.

One crisis at a time, he thought forcefully, calling out for them to get on with their chick flick.

The hospital staff was very polite. The nurses had still been changing the colostomy bags and checking John's vitals even though Dean could't help but think it was useless. The man was a potato. How much care did he really need in this state? More importantly, how much care did John even deserve? Dean still hadn't answered those questions once the doctor had explained the process and told them to "take as much time as they wanted" because "the schedule was just a suggestion". Dean had grumbled something about "not so call us back as soon as possible, Mr. Winchester now, are we doc?" But Sammy had elbowed him in the ribs, hard, so he hadn't repeated it for the doctor when he'd asked.

After Dr. Avery had left them, Sam had immediately walked into the room without hesitation. Dean, however, stayed glued to the floor of the hallway, Castiel standing conflicted by his side.

"I'd ask what's wrong, but..." Castiel smiled wryly at Dean, who huffed a strangled chuckle, his hands shaking where he grasped them in front of him. Castiel's mouth pulled down at the corners and he moved forward so that they were face to face, and Dean's darting eyes had to focus on Castiel's blue ones.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean said tentatively. Castiel just stared, which Dean took to be a yes. "Do you... This is fucking weird, I know, but would you... Do you wanna meet my dad?"

The words left him in a rush, the sound more breath than voice, and Castiel's expression turned from concern to something much, much softer. Gaze wide and shiny, Cas nodded. They let go of each other's hands so that Dean could lead him inside the room, and Dean saw Cas reach up to wipe his eyes.

"Should I be nervous?" Castiel asked, clearly attempting to lighten the mood with bad humour as his voice cracked a little on the last word.

"Yeah," Dean said, faring just as badly as he sniffled loudly. "Don't be offended if he doesn't chat much; kind of a dick, really..."

When they walked in, Sam looked up from where he had been bent over John's pale face, his expression questioning until he noticed Cas holding Dean's hand.

"Sammy, could you..." Dean started, but Sam shook his head, already moving towards the door.

"I'll give you guys a minute," Sam said, heading out. "I'll be back with some coffee."

Dean's shoulders eased a little as he led Castiel to the side of the hospital bed. John's chest rose and fell with the sound of air being pumped through the many tubes and machines whirring beside him. Dean bit his lip, resolve wavering, and looked at the man lying in front of him. He tried to remember the John who cooked breakfast for his wife in the mornings, the one who told Dean all about Baby and how much she meant to him, the John who cared about his family... But the only memories Dean could conjure up were those of getting yelled at for letting Sam go on a field trip, of wishing he could sign up for the high school baseball team, but knowing they couldn't afford the sign up fees and the liquor bill that month... Dean sighed as he brought a hand up to his eyes in grief, in anger, in sorrow over the lost years he'd spent trying so hard just to make it work, please God let this work so Sammy could be safe, so they could get some groceries, so they could make it out of this shithole town.

He looked up, steeling himself.

"Cas," he said, gesturing to the man under the white sheets. "Meet my dad, John. John," he said, feeling slightly ridiculous. "This is... This is Cas."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Cas said softly.

Dean nearly broke then, but Cas squeezed his hand.

"I think he likes me," Cas said, biting his lip. Dean let go of a sound that was half sob, half laughter.

"Nah," Dean said, shaking his head as he wiped his cheeks again. "He can tell you topped last night."

"No way," Castiel said, leaning in closer to John. "Your son thinks you don't know about the wonders of prostate stimulation, poor kid!"

Dean barked out a loud laugh, unable to hold back his disgust and amusement at the idea of homophobic John taking it up the ass. A passing nurse frowned disapprovingly at him from hallway, but he didn't care.

"This is stupid," Dean said, moving so that he could wrap his arms around Cas' waist from behind. "I don't know why I wanted to do this..." He mumbled into Cas' hair, inhaling the scent and dropping a kiss to his neck. Castiel leaned back, covering Dean's hands with his own.

"It's not stupid, Dean," Castiel replied, shaking his head slightly. "I wish I could have met him when he was awake."

"No you don't," Dean laughed bitterly. "He would have hated you."

"Maybe," Cas said. "But I would have liked to have tried to convince him otherwise."

Dean hummed at that, closing his eyes and burying his face in Cas' hair, happy that he could be there at all, that even though it was silly, John had sort of met Cas. And Cas had sort of met John. Dean was so busy thinking about how this meeting would have gone if both parties were actually conscious that he didn't notice Sam's return until a warm cup of coffee was being pressed into his hand. He opened his eyes and smiled gratefully at his little brother, who, to his credit, didn't even blink at Dean and Cas' position.

"They said they'd be in here soon," Sam said quietly. Dean nodded, but his hold on Castiel's waist tightened. "I could tell them we need a little more time if you want..."

"Nah," Dean said, taking a deep breath. "It's time."

The ordeal was quick. The nurse waited while the instruments beeped on for a few minutes. They had been warned this might happen. It was normal. And eventually the monitor flat lined, the wires were unplugged, and they were told they could stay or leave, but that he was gone.

All three of them had eaten dinner in the hospital together, the drab cafeteria food matching their sullen demeanor. Sam had excused himself to go finish packing and Castiel had offered to drive Dean back to his house.

It was awkward, watching Cas leave. He climbed into his car, his shirt in his hand, and reversed out of the driveway, smiling a little sadly until he finally drove away. Dean clenched the clothes Castiel had given back to him, resisting the urge to sniff them, pathetically wondering if he had washed them with his detergent so they could still smell a little like Cas. Shaking his head at his own ridiculousness, Dean walked back into John's house. Or, his house. The house.

Dean took a shower and got ready for bed, brushing his teeth at a snail's pace and finally stripping down to slip into his bed. The comforter felt cold despite the late summer's heat, and he shivered in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe he should have been more upset over his father's death. He tried to find it in himself to cry or worry about the fact that he was now a home owner, that he was sleeping in his dead dad's bed, that he had unplugged his dad that very same day... but instead, Dean just felt alone. Totally, incredibly, crushingly alone. He fell asleep to thought of a warm body pressed closed to him and messy bedhead hair tickling his face in the morning.

Dean woke up at the ungodly hour of six in the morning because of his early night the day before and he was determined to be productive. Grabbing some toast and peanut butter, Dean strapped on his running shoes, ready for a long run to get his day started.

Though he had to stop a few times, Dean made it 6 miles before deciding to call it quits. Normally, he would jog in a loop, bringing him close or back to the house, but today had been a spontaneous, push yourself until you aren't numb anymore kind of run, so Dean found himself quite a ways from his house, with only a vague sense of where he was. Fishing for his cellphone, he stared at the little blue dot that was his position on the map application he had downloaded on his phone but hardly ever used. Eyes scanning the neighbourhood, he realized he wasn't too far from...

He checked the time: half past eight. He checked the skies: clear, blue, without a cloud in sight. He chewed on his lip. Maybe...

No. He had told himself he wouldn't do this. They hadn't discussed it. Everything was the same, they hadn't talked about anything changing. The situation remained and Cas had to go back. He had to.

Though Dean knew these thoughts to be true, he still found himself settling into a jog in the general direction of Cas' house and soon enough he was running at a brisk pace, heart racing with possibilities.

They had spent the whole day together. Cas had met John, he'd cried with Dean, they'd... made love. Dean grimaced at his own sappy phrasing, but kept running anyway. They had. They'd been together and for Dean it had felt... God, it had felt perfect. Why hadn't he told Cas how perfect it had felt? Dean picked up his pace despite the protest of his muscles and thought about the way Cas' eyes had widened when he'd breached him, the way his breath had hitched when Dean had gotten down on his knees the morning after in the kitchen. Cas must have felt it too. This had changed everything. Yesterday was special. It was perfect. They could make it work, as long as Dean just explained, just told Cas how he really felt, he was sure of it.

He slowed his steps as Cas' house finally, finally came into view, and tried to catch his breath a little as he approached. He needed a strategy. He needed a plan. He needed to be able to form a word between winded breaths when he finally saw the damn man.

But just as Dean's breathing approached a normal rate, he felt a shock like a punch to the chest as he noticed the house.

Or, perhaps more specifically, he noticed the sign in front of the house:

"FOR SALE."

Dean bent over to put his hands on his knees, his vision going black for a second as he tried to process what he was seeing. When had Cas told him he was leaving? What day was it? Dean wracked his brain for the details, but couldn't remember for the life of him. He looked up desperately from where he was standing a few meters away from the sign and saw that the driveway to the house was empty, and the curtains were drawn in all the windows. Cas kept them open, Dean knew, because he liked the natural light and claimed sunshine was good for "souls". Dean had scoffed at his logic, but now he saw that the house looked much better with the curtains open. He understood it now. This house looked as empty as the shell of his father that laid on that hospital bed after the machines stopped their incessant beeping.

Nothing had changed.

Cas was gone.

Dean showered upon his return, still numb from his discovery on his run. Sam called him, and Dean made arrangements to drive him to the airport, grabbing his keys and taking him out to a late lunch before the departure. After what felt like only a few rushed minutes, Sam was standing at security, squirming as Dean checked his carry on and smoothed Sam's t-shirt absently.

"Come on, Dean, I gotta go!" Sam said, shrugging off Dean's attempt to muss Sam's hair.

"I know, I know," Dean said, settling for a tap on Sammy's head. Sam scowled at him.

"Don't die, alright little brother?" Dean said gruffly, his voice shaking a little. He clenched his jaw and lifted his chin, nodding once at Sam who rolled his eyes. Sam pulled Dean in for a hug, burying his nose in Dean's neck like when they were kids. Dean felt tears prick at his eyes, but he cleared his throat, willing them away.

"I could still stay, Dean," Sam said, pulling back, expression slightly panicked as he glanced over at the large line of people going through security.

"And waste a plane ticket? No way!" Dean said, feigning annoyance. Quieter, he added, "You're gonna do great, Sammy."

Sam looked like he might cry too, so Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"You better kick ass down there!" Dean said, grinning despite the gaping hole in his chest. "And get some, too, of course."

Sam ignored his last comment and just pulled Dean in for another hug.

"Alright, get outta here, Sammy, or you'll miss your flight," Dean said, pushing him away. "Love you," he mumbled, barely loud enough to be heard.

"Love you too, jerk!" Sammy called back, loud enough for everyone to hear and grinning widely.

Bastard, Dean thought.

"Bitch!" Dean yelled back at Sam, just as he was entering the security check in. He looked back and waved frantically, smile wide. Dean waved back until he couldn't see him anymore.

The next few days were difficult. Though Dean had known Sammy was leaving, he hadn't fully grasped the idea that he wouldn't be around. The goodbye at the airport was hard, but Dean had said goodbye before, it was nothing new. What was worse was the constant reminder that Dean couldn't just go over to Sammy's place. There was no Sammy's place. And then whenever he found that weird, he would think about calling Cas to tell him about it. But there was no calling Cas, either. And Dean was just reminded that he was very, very alone.

But it wasn't all bad.

In fact, the next couple of weeks became about the garage. Sam called every few days; Dean couldn't tell who was checking up on whom because they both insisted on asking a million questions to make sure they were both doing okay. Dean always ended those calls with a smile, his jaw a little sore from all the laughing and grinning he had done during their conversations. Sam was adjusting well, hanging out with a dude called Kevin a lot, even going over to this kid's mom's place for dinner sometime. Sam had already invited Dean over about a hundred times, insisting that he hadn't lived until he had tried an In-and-Out burger, trying to convince Dean that the plane ride was worth it, acquiescing when Dean would counter that a good long road trip might do Baby some good... But Dean was happy.

Freed of most of his responsibilities, Dean spent a lot of time working on what was soon becoming his own business. Though he still worked out of Bobby's garage, as August bled into September, Dean realized that he hadn't changed a car's oil, besides his own Baby's, in over a month. He had been working on a beautiful old mustang for a certain Mr. Gilmore when he had had the epiphany and he had stopped working just to properly think about the matter. He immediately wracked his brains to try and figure out when was the last time he had even worked on a project for Bobby, but couldn't for the life of him remember.

Taking a moment to stop working, Dean walked into Bobby's office, concerned.

"Hey, Bobby, can I talk to you a minute?" Dean asked without preamble. Bobby looked up from a screen with several spreadsheet open, taking his glasses off and scowling up at Dean.

"What's wrong?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Dean bit his lip, already feeling guilty but knowing it was best to own up to it straight away. He hadn't really worked for the man in a whole month.

"Listen, I was thinking about it... And I realized I ain't really been workin' for you much this past month..." Dean said, hanging his head. "I was so caught up with everything with Dad and Sam and..." Dean swallowed, deciding to halt his train of thought. "Anyway, I'm sorry. I've just been havin' so much fun with the old girls, I forgot about you. I really appreciate you giving me this opportunity and I don't wanna be ungrateful... I gotta finish this last mustang, but I can go back to oil changes for a while. I'm sure your boys are tired of the unfair treatment..."

At his own words, Dean was suddenly struck with the idea of a rotation. He wondered in horror if Bobby would start letting the boys take a stab at the classic so that it was fairer. He tried to justify it to himself, rationalizing that these were trained mechanics, that they could probably handle a body job or ordering parts online... It wasn't rocket science after all. But Dean just knew they wouldn't make sure the spark plugs were screwed in extra tight on the older models because the Fords made before 1980 tended to get loose, or they probably wouldn't balance the tires on a classic Chevy a half an inch off because a bunch of them had a factory default that was off by a little in 1943... Then again, Dean could probably fix whatever was done off his rotation; it would just mean a little extra work, a little useless energy spent...

"What are you yappin' on about?" Bobby cut into his thoughts. Dean sighed and looked him squarely in the eye.

"I'm sorry I've been monopolizing all my time with the classics. I know that ain't the job you hired me for, so I'll work harder to do that stuff on my own time from now on," Dean said resolutely, making to turn away and exit the office.

"What?" Bobby exclaimed. Dean paused. "Dean. I actually wanted to talk to you about that."

Dean took a deep breath, ready to apologize again, when Bobby got up and around the desk to clap Dean on the back.

"Business has been booming since you took over that annex and started working on the classic cars. People see those old beaut's and they think we're pretty classic too. Suddenly that rusty old sign is 'vintage' or somethin' and half the yuppies up from KC are makin' a bee line for Singer Auto... Bunch a' idjits, if you ask me. We've always been top notch, don't need any kinda trend for good mechanics..." Bobby grumbled, and Dean cleared his throat to get him back on topic. "Anyway, I been thinkin' 'bout your little projects for a while now, and I had my lawyer buddy draw up some contracts..."

Bobby leaned back and grabbed some papers from the desk littered in paperwork behind him.

"You don't gotta decide right now, but I figure you can take a look at them, tell me what you think..." Bobby said, voice gruff. Dean stared down at the small print. "Basically I thought you and I could go into business together. You could own the annex, start something for yourself, and I'd be a kinda... uh, silent partner of sorts."

Dean stood, dumbfounded.

"Like I said, you don't gotta decide now. Take a coupla' days, let me know," Bobby said, and turned back to his desk. When Dean still hadn't moved, Bobby rolled his eyes. "Well? Go on, then. Git!"

Dean finally snapped out of his shocked state and left the office, mind distracted as he decided to head home for the day.

Once home, Dean decided to clean the house to clear his mind a little. Did he really want this? Was this what he wanted from his life? A picture of that country house, of a tailored suit and laughing kid flashed through his mind for a moment, but he dismissed it sadly. The whole idea had a faded, sunny brightness to it, like an old photograph or a dream in his mind. Dean pushed it aside as he swept up the living room, moving to the kitchen when he finished there and finding that his stove top and counters were already spotless. Desperate, Dean opened the freezer, hoping that since he hadn't touched it in a month, preferring to eat fresh from the farmer market (seeing as he was apparently a masochist), there would be something worth throwing out there. He shuffled a frozen pizza to the back, wondering if he would ever get around to eating that, when a red bow caught his eye.

At the back of his freezer, settled neatly between a questionable slab of greying meat and canned juice, was a large mason jar topped with an equally large red bow. The mason jar looked to be filled with a yellow tinged frozen liquid, and Dean was pulling it out before he could stop himself. There was a note dangling from the cold metal top, and Dean nearly tore it in his haste to read the damn thing.

"Dean," it read, and he could immediately tell it was Sam's loopy handwriting. A small part of him was disappointed, but he read on regardless.

"Cas gave me this before he left. He explained a little, and I'm sorry you guys broke up. He told me to keep this lemonade frozen because even off season it is a delicious treat, and it made me think of you. I know you hate lemonade, and I know this summer was hard. But I kind of hoped you would find this when I'm gone and be reminded that life has seasons too. And summer might be over, but fall's just starting now.

Don't hold yourself back because you're scared of moving forward, okay? You think the only way I can succeed is if you fail, like there's some sort of balance in the world that prevents both of us from being happy... But you're wrong. So don't wait around on the sidelines of my race, just cheering me on... Shit. I used a jogging metaphor. Whatever, Dean. You know what I meant. Just... When life gives you lemons, right?

Anyway, you're still a jerk,

Sammy"

Dean clutched at the frozen note. Sam had taken the time to find some kind of waxed paper because it hadn't crumpled or been affected by the slight freezer burn at all. Plus, Cas had clearly allowed for the expansion of the lemonade when it was frozen, which made Dean smile in a way that almost didn't hurt.

Sammy was right.

Dean put the mason jar down on the table and got up. He grabbed his leather jacket and took out the papers from Bobby, unfolding them carefully and setting them on the table once he returned to the kitchen. Staring at them, he thought about what Sam had written, and how perfect that kid's timing was even when he wasn't doing it on purpose. He shook his head, smiling.

Life has seasons too.

And maybe Alastair was the winter of Dean's life- cold and grey and hopeless. Dean could remember the emptiness, the feeling of death inside. But if Alastair was winter, meeting Cas was the full heat of summer. The time they had together was sunshine and flowers and god damn lemonade.

But summer was over now, and Dean had to decide.

Fall often meant death and decay; fallen leaves and brisk weather... But fall also meant school starting, Cas working as a CEO, new beginnings. When Dean had thought of them before, he'd felt lost, he'd felt alone. But now, Dean could see it for himself, too.

"Well," he said to himself, clicking the back of a pen he pulled from his flannel shirt. "Let's make some lemonade..."


	5. Chapter 5

7 years later

"Gabriel, you do realize I am extremely busy with my position and I hardly had the time to make this trip as it was..."

Anna was cut off by Gabriel talking to someone off the line. She rolled her eyes as she overheard talk of "pink" and girth".

"Gabriel!" she snapped. Gabriel laughed into the phone.

"Sorry, Anna," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I forgot how big and important you were. No time to help out your big bro who gave you this opportunity in the first place! I get it!"

Anna sighed.

"Gabriel, it's been 7 years..." Anna said through gritted teeth, even as she flashed her credentials at an employee at the car show. They let her through to the VIP section, muttering apologies as she tried to smile and wave them off hurriedly.

"Youngest, most successful CEO of a company of that scale, innate talent, couldn't have done it without her CFO and brother..." Gabriel was prattling on. Anna rolled her eyes again, quickly shaking her head when an employee grimaced and apologized for the delay.

"I think they were referencing Castiel, Gabe," Anna replied drily, but Gabriel was still talking over her.

"I gave it all up! It could have been me, you know? And now I ask you one teensy, tiny, little favour, and suddenly I'm the bad guy!" Gabriel said.

"I appreciate everything you've done, all you've given up for me, brother dearest. I am just telling you, I don't see why I have to go see this last vendor when we had already agreed that the car we picked could definitely support two men as well as a roasted pig!"

Anna's voice had raised a little at the last few words, and one of the car models stared at her in disgust. She chose to ignore the scantily clad woman to make her way to the booth at the far right, where a single car was displayed.

Out of all the crazy designs the "VIP" section vendors had come up with, (Anna could have sworn she had seen a "Winter Wonderland" themed stand where the women were wearing dresses made of ice), this particular booth was practically bare. There were three or four employees sporting plain black t-shirts. The only hint that they might not be buyers themselves were the small nametags attached to their simple attire. Well, that and the fact that none of them were sporting Rolexes or spouting off about their impressive classic car collection.

Anna hardly had a chance to look up at the banner before a tall redheaded woman was striding up to meet her.

Anna tuned back into what Gabriel was droning on about trusted vendors and adding a fourth participant to the "scene". Anna's nose crinkled in disgust at the idea of the roasted pig being a participant. She was pretty open about Gabriel's (quite successful and possible equally as distateful) pornography business on the whole, but foodplay was so not her thing.

"Ok, ok, it's fine, I'm here," Anna cut Gabriel off, just as he began to wax poetic on the pros of dressing the pig in lingerie. Which... what? "I'm meeting with them, so unless you want me to be rude..."

"No, no, of course not! I'll catch up with you later!" Gabriel said hurriedly, and immediately hung up. Anna rolled her eyes again. Typical Gabriel.

Just as Anna was debating shooting a text with the word "manners" as well as some choice emojis to Gabriel, the redhead waved a hand in front of Anna's frowning face. Looking up, Anna was met with the bright green eyes of a smiling redhead.

"Hi!" the woman said loudly. "I'm Charlie!"

Anna couldn't help but smile back at the person in front of her. Her grin was infectious.

"Hello," Anna said cautiously. "My name is Anna... I believe I have a meeting with the owner of your company, though my harebrained brother failed to mention the name of this company itself or its owner, so I may just be assuming here, based on your placement in this hall..."

Charlie's smile brightened (somehow) and gestured to the large, electric blue car on display.

"Boss man said to wait for a pretty redhead who looked important," Charlie said, looking Anna up and down. Anna fought a blush and suddenly felt overdressed in her professional slacks and tweed vest. She had meant to look serious, just as her mother had suggested she should. anna was usually somewhat impervious to these annoying little comments, but she rarely took meetings for her big brother and his stupid company, so she had changed out of her black blouse and put on the dreaded vest.

"Can't be you, though," Charlie said, already turning to bring Anna to the booth. "You're more like... super hot."

Charlie threw Anna a wink and led her to a small foldable table behind the back flap of their small stand.

"Sorry to make you wait, but he's still meeting with a client over Bessy over there," Charlie started apologetically.

"Bessy?" Anna interrupted before she could stop herself. Charlie beamed.

"Yeah, she's our last one out. A 1957 Chevy Bel-Air. We almost didn't bring her out, but she's kinda been my baby..." Charlie said, a dreamy look in her eye.

"So you're a mechanic?" Anna asked, intrigued.

"Me? No, no! I'm a marketer slash computer genius slash all around awesome best friend to the owner," Charlie answered, laughing. "But I hung out in ol' Bessy while Ash fixed her up. Hacking is fun, but it's even more fun when you can do it in the backseat of a classic car. Am I right?"

Charlie wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Anna chuckled, biting her lip.

"Anyway, he should be here soon, so did you need me to stay or...?" Charlie asked tentatively. Anna's attention snapped back up to Charlie.

"No, that's okay. I am supposed to be meeting my brother here. He should be arriving any minute, actually..." Anna trailed off, checking her phone to see if any texts had come in.

"Oh! The impolite, no-names guy?" Charlie asked.

"Actually," Anna started, but was cut off by the flap behind Charlie opening up.

"Oh good, you'll have some company while you wait!" Charlie said brightly, as the man behind the flap smiled at Anna in greeting.

Charlie rushed off, possibly to hack something, as the man came to sit in the chair beside Anna.

"It's been too long again, you know that?" Anna said before he could sit. She grabbed his shoulders and dragged him into an impromptu hug. After a moment, he responded in kind and was chuckling in her ear.

"Hello, Anna," he said, letting go of her. "I missed you."

"Me too, Cas!" Anna said, and she meant it. "I'm almost glad Gabriel made me take this meeting after all."

Castiel laughed at that, shaking his head.

"What is this time?" Castiel asked, tone wary. "I once had a meeting with an ice cream supplier about a thousand liter sundae."

Anna looked incredulous.

"Gabriel wanted two women sitting in the dish," Castiel added drily. Anna laughed.

"What is it with Gabriel and food play? It's a suckling pig this time, actually, and now I'm wondering what kind of sex sells online these days..." Anna said thoughtfully. Castiel frowned.

"If it is a suckling pig, why exactly are we meeting at a car show?" Castiel asked, head tilted in confusion.

"Well I knew you wouldn't come to a butcher's shop," Anna said. Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Nah, the suckling pig is supposed to be on the car..."

Castiel nodded.

"I see," he replied.

"Apparently the hood needs to be reinforced for "vigorous activities"... Don't ask," Anna said, rolling her eyes.

"I doubt I need any more information than that, thank you," Castiel replied. He crossed his legs in his small chair, knocking the little table in the process.

"So how have you been? How is... the company?" Castiel asked carefully. Anna smiled.

"It's doing great, Castiel," Anna said truthfully. Castiel smiled genuinely back. "I never really even got a chance to thank you for everything... I mean, I can't believe you trusted me. I was twenty one!"

"Well I wasn't much older myself," Castiel said defensively, looking a little uncomfortable. "And..." he hesitated, finally taking one of Anna's hands into his own. "It's me who should be thanking you. You worked very hard. I'm happy to hear you have been successful in your endeavours. It is something I would have been unable to accomplish myself and I am very proud of you Anna Novak."

Anna blushed at the attention as well as the use of the Novak surname. She knew Castiel himself rarely used it, preferring to go by his pen name these days. To have him recognize her as blood, though he had always done so in the past on a different level, made her heart swell with pride.

"Well," she said, keeping her composure. Castiel had always had a knack for matters of the heart. He had always had that uncanny ability to say exactly what someone needed to hear in such a straightforward and honest way. "You haven't been the struggling artist Mom imagined either."

Anna winced a little at the mention of their mother, but Castiel seemed unaffected, smiling gratefully instead at the compliment.

"Yes," Castiel said, ducking his head. "It seems the world just cannot get enough of Jimmy Collins..."

"And his trusty angel, of course!" Anna added. Castiel's gaze clouded, but he smiled anyway.

"Of course," Castiel agreed. They lapsed into silence.

"This guy better be good if he's so late," Anna said, checking her phone again. There was a message from Michael, but she ignored it. He was an anxious texter. "Did Gabriel happen to mention his name to you?"

Castiel opened his mouth to answer when the owner finally appeared beside the table, looking down at an arm full of catalogs and busying himself with their layout on the small table.

"I am so sorry about the delay. The last buyer was haggling... I was like, dude. It's a car show and this is our last car to sell," the man was rambling in a rush, head still ducked over papers. "Plus we'd agreed on a price already! I really don't like people who go back on their deals and to be honest this dude was kind of a big bag of-"

The man in plaid looked up at them then, his mouth falling open when his gaze slid from Anna to Castiel.

"Cas," the man breathed, dropping the last of his binders onto the table with a loud smack.

Castiel, who had stood up with his hand extended to meet him, stood frozen on the spot. The smack seemed to startle him out of his trance for a moment because he dropped his hand to his side and shut his mouth.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said.

Dean drummed his fingers on the arm rest. He had let the company pay for first class. Charlie had convinced him. But now, in addition to the rising panic in his gut and the film of sweat on his skin, Dean felt totally and completely guilty for his indulgence. Charlie had a point though. He imagined being in this state in coach, a mother of three beside him or maybe a man with a bad cough... No, it was definitely worth the guilt.

He continued to tap out the beat to a Metallica song while the pilot droned on about weather and safety rules. At least this way the passengers around him were too far away for them to be bothered by Dean's incessant squirming. It was basically torture that they didn't let people use their electronic devices only during take off and landing. Uh, the vehicle was hurtling toward ground or hurtling into the air, aren't these the moment people need to be distracted so they can at least be happy when they inevitable die in the fiery crash that is imminent? Dean shook his head, looking around to try and find something he could latch onto other than the pounding in his ears and the pain of his teeth digging into the sore spot in his cheek. He glanced over to his neighbour, a young girl in her twenties reading a book. God, Dean was an idiot. He should never have let Charlie talk him into bringing one of those electronic book reader things instead of his beat up copy of Vonnegut's best.

"It'll be easier to carry around," Charlie had wheedled.

Easier to carry around, maybe. Disallowed during take off? Definitely. Dean grumbled to himself as he tried to discern the title of the book, hoping to distract himself enough not to notice the seat belt sign glow as the engine began to rumble full force.

The woman was laughing at something in the book when finally, finally she turned her head and Dean caught a glimpse of two wings sticking out of a pile of dirt, with the words "Angel" and "bestseller" splashed in the front of the novel. Lifting his head so he could see more clearly, he frowned at the familiar sight.

His vision was soon taken over, however, by something very, very blue.

"Sir?" came the voice of the steward blocking Dean's sight. He was clad in the bright blue uniform of the airline and wore a tired smile. "I'm going to need you to stay seated with your seat belt on. The pilot just asked us to do a final check; we will be taking off shortly."

Dean nodded absently, still frowning at the outline of the lady with brown hair on the other side of the aisle, who was being asked to make sure her table was in the upright position. Dean heard her apologize profusely before putting the tray away and leaning back over her book.

But all thoughts about the girl and the book flew out of Dean's mind when the plane began to roll across the tarmac, it's speed gaining as it got into position for take off.

As soon as they were airborne, Dean took advantage of his free drink amenity and asked immediately for four whiskey bottles. The steward, though kind with his large brown eyes and honey blond hair, looked at him a little pityingly and snuck him a few more.

"It gets easier the more you do it," he said with a wink.

Dean blushed, but didn't respond.

He was unattached at the moment. His last girlfriend, Lisa, had broken up with him after a year because Dean just wasn't "husband material". She had cited his many faults, including but not limited to his tendency to leave dirty socks on the floor of their shared room in her house, his inability to commit (despite his moving in only three months into the relationship at her request), and his inability to love her (apparently).

Granted, Dean had never actually said the words, "I love you" out loud to her. And the socks thing was pretty legitimate. And, well, Lisa hadn't minded him moving in, but the fact that Dean hadn't sold John's house in the meantime became quite a sore subject.

But it wasn't entirely Dean's fault. Lisa had hid the fact that she had a kid for a long time. It wasn't until they were about to move in together that Dean found out about Ben. And even though Dean was happy to step in and care for the child, it seemed like Lisa was less than thrilled with Dean's parenting skills.

All in all, Dean was happy they had broken up because it had never felt right. He suspected it had something to do with the way Lisa had reacted to finding out that Dean's exes weren't all women.

"So you were gay before, and now you're straight?" Lisa had asked, nose scrunching up in disgust. Dean had taken a breath. Since Cas, it had become easier and easier to say the words aloud... But that wasn't to say that moments like these didn't frustrate Dean, or make him want to hide in shame.

"No, Lis," Dean had said patiently. "I'm bi."

"You're bi," Lisa had repeated, as if testing the word on her mouth. "But, like, you're not interested in any guys right now, right?"

By then they had been dating exclusive for a month, so Dean had made a face at the suggestion.

"What? No, Lisa. I'm with you..." Dean had said slowly. Lisa's expression had cleared a little at that, but the concerned suspicion stayed in her stare for a while after that. It was something Dean was never quite sure she had understood.

But since Lisa, Dean hadn't really been involved with anyone. Though men had definitely hit on Dean, and some had even been attractive, it seemed that Lisa had pin pointed Dean's main problem: he couldn't love anyone. At least, not since...

A particularly violent bout of turbulence ended Dean's thoughts abruptly as he tried to keep the food he had eaten down. He downed a sixth whiskey, then attempted to sleep his way to California.

All in all the flight went surprisingly well. Dean slept through most of it, only waking once when the over eager flight attendant nudged him with the drink cart.

"So sorry, sir!" the man said, lips curling into a shy smile. Dean smiled weakly in response. He wasn't quite angry at the kid, it wasn't his fault, but he definitely did not appreciate being woken up from a nap that would have rendered him unconscious for a harrowing experience. As it was, his mouth was dry, so Dean did his best to remain nice.

"That's alright," Dean said, willing his voice to sound charming rather than sarcastic.

The man smiled lasciviously. Dean repressed an eyeroll.

The first couple of times Dean had gone on business, he had balked at the amount of attention his suit garnered, male and female. If he was being honest with himself, though, it was the male attention that worried him most at the very beginning. It wasn't until he'd met Charlie that things really started to change for Dean.

Dean remembered one night a very attractive man had sidled up to them in the bar and asked Charlie and Dean if they'd needed a third. Dean, who had been a little thrown by the man's deep voice and large stature had sat, mouth gaping like a fish, unable to respond. Charlie, without having had any discussion with Dean about his sexuality, simply slid a paper with Dean's number on it and winked at the man.

"I don't swing that way, but Dean's an equal opportunist over here, I think," she had said, smirking.

Dean was blushing and stuttering, unsure whether or not to deny Charlie's apt deduction when the man had simply smile, brushing large fingers over Dean's shoulder. Dean shivered, his cheeks positively burning. That night had been an awesome one; not least because Charlie had barely reacted to him affirming her astute observaton and then asking for advice on how to bag the bearded barge of a man.

Suddenly, Cas' acceptance and appreciation for Dean's quirks and ticks (read: bisexuality) wasn't just a fluke. In fact, Charlie, and most of her friends, openly talked about their experimenting or identification with attraction to more than one sex. Dean had even learned the term "pansexual" from Sam, of all people, when Charlie had sussed it out of him one Christmas in Lawrence.

So a cute, young blonde flight attendant paying Dean attention should have been flattering, but Dean was actually somewhat annoyed. And that fact alone gave him a thrill. God, it felt nice to be at a point where attention wasn't just welcome, but so common it annoyed him. He snorted at his flawed logic, and the kid seemed to take that as encouragement.

"Here," the guy said conspiratorially, "I made you a special treat."

Weirded out by the wording of the man's statement, Dean smiled uneasily back. The man deposited a pale yellow drink, and Dean's smile faded instantly.

"It's really good, it's bourbon, and a really great local lem-"

"No, thank you," Dean said sharply, handing the glass back to the man, who was now frowning concernedly back at Dean.

"I promise you'll like it!" the man protested, attempting to hand the drink back to Dean, who was shaking his head.

They struggled for a moment, while Dean categorically refused to take the offensive drink, and the man absolutely not taking no for an answer until finally, inevitably, the airplane hit a patch of turbulence. Dean almost sighed resignedly as he watched, almost as if in slow motion, as the drink spilled, covering him in lemon scented juice.

Dean didn't say a word, just glared at the man, who apologized profusely and offered him a free snack. Dean took three of the premium snacks, barely refraining from sticking out his tongue at the stupid kid, and two mini whiskey bottles.

The blonde didn't bother him again for the rest of the trip.

Dean didn't like lemonade.

7 years and it still fucked him up to hear it. This man gargled with gravel at night, of this Dean was convinced. How else would someone's voice achieve that decibel? It was a moment before Dean could compose himself long enough to say anything, and even when he did, he had no idea what to say.

"Hi," he replied, his voice suddenly hoarse. He winced at the awkward crack in it.

But god damn the man was still just as beautiful as the day he drove away from him, cool and collected as always, and chose his family over Dean. It had been the right choice, Dean knew that, but the pain of it still ached, dull but present, behind Dean's ribs. All of the hurt, all of the feelings Dean had dutifully stowed away came rushing back at those two words he hadn't heard in years. He has missed this man. Fuck, had Dean missed him.

Dean had tried his best to stay away from the Novak's company in news outlets, but some information had leaked through; especially once Sam had found out that the new CEO was suspiciously redheaded and feminine. But Dean hadn't heard much else. It was Cas' right to give up his job, for whatever reason. It was none of Dean's business.

As it was, however, Dean was confused. The name of the company on the info sheet Charlie had handed him was not that of the Novak clan's and Dean doubted Anna would travel this far for a car she could easily have shipped to her. Granted, it probably wouldn't be a Winchester remade, but other restorations were just as good... sometimes. Dean smirked at his own joke, standing up a bit straighter at the thought. Dean was successful. He knew that. And it was because he worked hard and earned every bit of his success.

And, if Dean was being completely honest with himself, it was because of the dark haired man in front of him. Cas had been the one to push Dean, to open him up (literally and figuratively, Dean thought, smirking again) to new experiences and facets of himself he hadn't been willing or able to share or explore after his time of hiding. God, Dean may have worked hard to finish his mechanical engineering degree and grow his small business, but Castiel had been with him before everything, when Dean had been broken. And he'd loved Dean through it all.

Well, at least, Dean hoped he did. Because God did Dean love Cas. Before.

Dean cleared his throat at the awkward silence. Cas, who seemed to have been lost in thought also, snapped back to attention at the sound, straightening a little and sitting back down into the flimsy chair that he had gotten up out of to greet Dean.

Unfortunately, Castiel severely misjudged the placement of his backside so that he somehow managed to put his weight on the wrong side of the cheap plastic. He emitted a tiny yelp before the entire, wobbly contraption fell apart under his weight and Castiel found himself on the floor of the large hangar, staring up at Dean with flushed cheeks.

"Shit!" Dean exclaimed eloquently, just as Anna got up to help too. Dean was already hauling Castiel to his feet by the arm, however, and once he was standing again, brushing off whatever dust or dirt clung to his suit.

"Sorry, I can get Charlie to get you another seat..." Dean said, looking around to see if he could grab someone's attention. His employees were missing, however, and Dean turned back to Castiel helplessly, only to find himself standing very close to the man in question. Suddenly feeling very self conscious, he took a step back and coughed uselessly.

"No!" Anna said very loudly, checking her phone. "No, sorry, actually I'm needed back at the office. Castiel, Gabriel told you what he needed exactly, right?"

Dean watched as Castiel nodded mutely, eyes wide and mouth still hanging open.

"Great! I trust you to make a good decision!" Anna said, and grabbed her suitcase, eyes darting between Dean and Castiel. "Good luck!"

Anna left quickly, basically jogging in her high heels on her way back down the aisle of car salesmen, ignoring their greetings and making a bee line for the exit. Dean frowned at her abrupt departure, and it suddenly dawned on him what Castiel and Anna had been doing here.

"Gabe!" Dean said loudly. "Right. He needs a reinforced hood. I get it." Dean nodded to himself. He couldn't help but smile. "Cocksure. Cock...? Sure!" Dean chuckled, finally getting the joke. "Some things never change, eh?"

Castiel looked confused for a second longer, then his expression turned solemn as he nodded again at Dean's words.

"That they don't," he said softly, clearly eyeing Dean up and down. Dean blushed again, unsure of how to take the vague comment.

"So, um, did you still wanna take a look at some of the models we've done... I assume he needs something sturdy, so we'll probably be lookin' at 50s rather than 80's here..." Dean said uncertainly, moving around so that he could see his binders laid out on the table.

"Honestly," Cas cut him off. "I have heard many great things about your work, Dean. I believe you would be best suited for the job."

Dean frowned.

"Look, Cas, you should probably at least take a look at my credentials or something before coming to a decision like that, man," Dean said, kicking himself mentally for refusing such a great opportunity. Still, it was the right thing to do, especially if Cas was only hiring Dean out of misplaced guilt. "You can't believe everything you hear..."

Castiel tilted his head in confusion, and looked at Dean square in the eye.

"It is not only what I have heard, but what I have seen with my own eyes. Many of the people who frequent my sister's company own cars that have been restored by your team. I myself have considered bringing in a model in the past, so it isn't just..." Castiel was saying haughtily, but at the last sentence, Dean couldn't repress a sound of frustration.

"Why didn't you, then?" Dean asked, not caring that his voice had sounded a little on the desperate side. Castiel broke eye contact, looking down at the floor for a moment and frowning. Sighing, he seemed to stand up straighter to look back up at Dean.

"I think, we should discuss the matter at hand first," Castiel said, his mouth set. "Then, perhaps we could..." Castiel shrugged, resembling a lost puppy for a moment. "I'm not sure. Hang out?"

Dean chewed on his lip for a second, itching to pursue the topic, hoping Castiel's hesitation meant something despite their history. But then he thought about the price the man who had set up the deal had mentioned. for that much cash, well, perhaps Cas was right: reunions could wait.

It turned out Gabriel had set up the whole thing. Or at least, that is what Castiel seemed to think. Dean was worried for a moment that Castiel might have thought this had been one large plan to con Castiel into seeing Dean again, but he needn't have been concerned because Castiel apparently still had very little faith in Gabriel. And for good reason.

After the contracts had been signed (the hefty sum increased slightly at Castiel's insistence) for a Bel Air much like the one that had been displayed outside the tent to be rented and included in the upcoming feature film (entitled, fittingly, "From the Hood, on the Hood"), Castiel had insisted on bringing Dean out for ice cream. Castiel maintained that since his brother had basically conned Dean into "reliving a difficult moment in the past" and taking on "somewhat unsavoury business", he owed Dean that much. It was the closest one of them had come to mentioning their shared past, and Dean brushed over it with a huff. He knew it would have to be discussed eventually, but he foolishly hoped the ice cream would lessen the blow once Dean found out Castiel was a big time CFO or married with three kids.

Dean had rolled his eyes at Castiel's suggestion, but eventually had to agree seeing as most of the cleanup had been accomplished by his crew anyway, leaving him no excuse to blow Cas off, nervous as he was. Especially not when Charlie, who saw Castiel standing awkwardly as Dean protested his invitation, decided to whistle and join in on the coaxing.

"C'mon, boss!" Charlie had yelled from across their small spot. "Don't you wanna have a sweet with a sweet?"

Dean had grimaced, but Charlie had just shrugged.

"Ok, not my best, but still!" she had called. "Get outta here! We got this."

So that was how Dean had found himself walking around San Francisco, searching for the words to start talking to the man who had once made him think he could love again.

"So..." Dean started, but Cas had begun to speak at the same time, so they both fell silent.

"You go ahead," Dean said finally, shuffling so that their arms wouldn't brush as they walked side by side on the crowded sidewalk.

Castiel had told Dean he knew about a small cafe that sold really great ice cream near the convention center, so Dean had followed him without question.

"I was just going to say," Castiel repeated, ducking his head a little as they entered the cafe. "I am really glad Gabriel tricked us into seeing each other again, despite the awkwardness..."

Dean grinned at that, shaking his head as he chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny?" Castiel asked, smiling at the man behind the counter and ordering a cone.

"Nothing," Dean replied. "Just... God, Cas, you haven't changed a bit."

"How do you mean?" Castiel asked, at the same time that Dean told the man he wanted a twist cone.

"The awkwardness?" Dean asked, using his free hand to put up air quotes. "Come on, man. Everyone knows the best way to make something that's already awkward even awkwarder is to mention it!"

"Awkwarder?" Castiel asked, instead of responding to Dean's jab. "It seems you haven't changed either!"

"Hey, now, I am a college graduate. I'm educated," Dean said. "And shit..."

That drew a laugh from Castiel as they left the store and walked down the bright street.

"I know," Castiel said, and Dean frowned.

"How?" he asked.

Castiel blushed, avoiding Dean's gaze.

"Sammy," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. Castiel shrugged.

"I asked him," Castiel said quietly. Once again, Dean threw him an incredulous look. Neither of them spoke for a moment, as the circumstances of their last moments together came back to them.

"Cas, why did you-"

"I'm sorry I never-"

They both stopped speaking again, the silence heavier this time around. They kept walking, Castiel leading slightly as he was more familiar with the surroundings. His confidence made Dean curious.

"You seem like you know this neighbourhood," Dean said neutrally. Castiel bit his lip, still apparently poised to continue in the vein of explications from their shared past.

"I do," he replied, allowing the change in subject as they walked towards a green area. "I sometimes stay in this city when I am not touring. My home base is in Seattle, however."

"Touring? What, did you join a band in the past seven years or something?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

Castiel didn't answer straight away, leading them both to sit instead on a bench. Dean noticed they had made their way into a beautiful park. Seeing as it was a weekend, the place was crawling with families and children enjoying the late summer weather. Castiel watched as a dog returned a ball to its owner for a moment before speaking.

"I didn't take the CEO position," Castiel blurted. Dean had nearly given up on any kind of response and had been watching a woman feed some ducks in a pond. He was startled by the words and turned sharply to look at Cas. He was still staring straight ahead at the man and his dog. At Dean's silence, Cas turned back to him with wide eyes. Dean raised his eyebrows, but Cas just looked on, expression almost pleading.

"What the fuck, Cas? Fill me in a bit, then, cos right now I'm wondering what the fuck we're doing here if you never even left Lawrence in the first place..." Dean said finally. Castiel sighed.

"I didn't stay in Lawrence. I left," Cas said, turning back to the crowds with a wistful expression in his eye. "I had to, you see, because without my help the company would have been run by Michael..."

"Douche," Dean muttered. Castiel nodded.

"Exactly. So it was up to me to change the future of the company. Make it something better," Castiel said. "You were right. I still had a purpose within my family, I just didn't think it was worth more than..."

Castiel trailed off and turned to look at Dean again, who bit the inside of his cheek, hard.

"Well, anyway. Technically I did take the CEO position, but that was only so that Anna could take the reigns at such a young age. The will stipulated that I had to be CEO for at least six months before I could appoint someone else and step down. So for six months, I attended every meeting, every soul sucking deal, every mind-meltingly boring negotiation with Anna trailing along, acting like my assistant as I showed her the ropes. Her twenty first birthday was just around the corner, which meant she would legally be allowed to step in as CEO. Her and Gabriel had planned the whole thing while I had been busy in Lawrence with..." Castiel trailed off again, looking at Dean and wincing.

"With all my bullshit," Dean finished for him. He wasn't going to apologize. The night before Castiel left had been one of the best and worst nights of Dean's life. He was grateful that Castiel had been there for him... But now the story had changed and Dean wasn't sure what he should say.

"Regardless, Gabriel had known, before I had even made the decision myself, that I would choose you over my duty to my family; he also knew that the decision would likely cost me my happiness through the guilt and resentment I would suffer from having given up the power to save many," Castiel continued. Dean made a noise of protest, unsure which part of the speech to react to first. Cas had chosen Dean over his family, but Dean hadn't wanted that at all. Wasn't that the point? Cas held up a hand and continued, though. "Anyway, Gabriel, along with Anna, had come up with the six month plan. It was the only thing that had allowed me to say yes, to agree to return for a short period. It was the reason I wanted you to come with me..."

"But I didn't let you explain. I was so busy trying not to make your decision for you that I fucked the whole thing up," Dean cut Castiel off. They stared at each other, silent for a moment while dogs barked and children laughed around them. "Shit, Cas, I'm so fucking stupid!"

"What? No! Dean, I didn't come back either," Castiel replied, shaking his head and breaking eye contact to look at his lap. "I never came back for you. I didn't fight. I was a coward."

Something cold trickled down Dean's hand and he was quickly reminded of the ice cream in his hand. It seemed almost callous to lick at the sweet treat now, considering the heavy subject, but he did so anyway, following the melted cream down his palm and grimacing at the sticky mess there. Dean didn't want to reply to that last thought. He hadn't, Cas was right. Neither of them had really fought for the relationship back then. And maybe there was a reason for that. Dean frowned as he finally got his ice cream under control and glanced up to see Castiel staring at him. The look he gave Dean was half amused, half exasperation, with a hint of arousal Castiel couldn't mask in the striking blue of his large eyes.

Dean shook his head, smiling despite the difficult subject being broached. Castiel smiled back, slightly baffled.

"You weren't a coward, Cas," Dean started. Cas scoffed.

"I could have contacted you! I could have called or explained... I even..." Castiel stopped himself, blushing scarlet, but frowning in determination despite not quite meeting Dean's eye. "I got published."

"Uh," Dean said, confused again. "You mean those cool cartoons you showed me? Congrats..."

Castiel nodded, seemingly pleased that Dean had remembered. As if he'd ever forget Castiel basically calling him his very own angel.

"No, I meant... I had this romantic notion that you might see the book and recognize the front page. That you might realize I didn't take the job and that I still-" Castiel cut himself short again, this time shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Well, anyway. I should have called. I should have explained the situation."

"So why didn't you?" Dean said, pointedly ignoring Castiel's slip. "What was stopping you?"

"Nothing, really," Castiel said. "At first, it was my own cowardice. You had wanted what was best for me; you had sacrificed your own happiness just to ensure that I was pursuing what I wanted, what I deserved... So was I sure that I was truly what was best for you? Was I the absolutely best you could get? I was older than you, damaged by a cold family that didn't even like you when you met. I had no future in sight, no solid plans for myself except a lofty idea about creative writing and graphic novel publishing." Castiel paused to sigh, frustrated. "So I kept telling myself I should wait until I was successful; until I had a plan, and I could come to you with my life together and you could be proud to be with me. Then weeks turned to months and months turned to years... I tried once, to reach out. But by then you had already met... You were with a woman named Lisa. Sam told me you were happy."

Dean winced. Lisa had been great, really. He had been happy. Sort of.

Castiel looked at Dean with a sadness that wasn't there before.

"We broke up," Dean said, a little loudly. "I didn't love her."

Castiel's face morphed into a frown of confusion, before he understood.

"Oh," Castiel said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Dean said, just as quietly. Castiel's eyes snapped back to Dean's at that.

"Oh," Castiel said again. "I see."

"I, uh, did, you know?" Dean replied. "See your book. On the plane, actually. I didn't know it was you."

Castiel lifted a brow as if it was obvious.

"I was far away, ok? I thought... I don't know. I thought it might have been wishful thinking," Dean mumbled, cheeks burning a little at the confession. It felt good to get it off his chest, though. He felt lighter somehow. But he suspected it had something to do with Castiel's recent confession also.

"I wanted to talk to you too," Dean blurted. "I wanted to call you or stop you or say something... I ran to your house the day you left because I thought maybe you had changed your mind because of... Well because you..."

Castiel moved a little closer, his arm twitching up as if to cup Dean's chin where it trembled. He abandoned the movement halfway though, settling his hand in his lap instead, expression just devastated.

"I know!" Castiel all but wailed, burying his face in his own free hand. "I wanted to say something too! I didn't want to leave, I truly didn't. And I didn't mean for us to... to get so close so fast. I hadn't planned to, to..." Castiel trailed off.

"Hit it and quit it?" Dean supplied helpfully, but his voice cracked a little on the last word.

"God, yes. I was an idiot. I thought a clean break would be best... I thought..." Castiel shook his head where it hid behind his fingers still.

"Idiots," Dean agreed, blinking away tears himself.

"Idiots," Castiel repeated, dropping his free hand and frowning at Dean.

Castiel bit into his cone, breaking eye contact and looking out towards the park again. Dean, having already polished off his own cone, fiddling with a loose string in his black slacks.

"So, uh, fill me in," Dean said finally, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. "Since Sammy and his big mouth have apparently already told you all about my life, what have you been up to then? Any hot new girlfriends? Boyfriends maybe?"

Castiel swallowed his last mouthful of ice cream and gave Dean a quizzical look.

"Well," he said slowly. "I explained most of what happened to me - the first six months were spent learning the ropes in order to pass on that knowledge to Anna. And then the four years after that were spent trying to convince someone to buy my graphic novel until Joshua, my publisher now, finally got a hold of my first draft. He set me up with an editor and weirdly enough I have had quite a lot of success. I should have known, though," Castiel added with a mischievous smile, "that anything involving you would garner the world's attention."

Dean rolled his eyes, blushing. Seven years, and Castiel still had an embarrassingly easy time making Dean squirm. Dean kept silent, however, somehow eager to hear the answer to his second question despite himself. When Castiel didn't speak, Dean nudged him with his knee.

" And...?" Dean prompted. Castiel gave him a funny look.

"And now I am in San Francisco for a lecture at Stanford in a Modern Media and the Novel class. Apparently graphic novels that use both prose and illustrated panels are rare," Castiel replied, making a face.

Dean huffed.

"I have also visited Sam while I've been here. Jessica and the baby seem to be doing quite well," Castiel said, his smile brightening despite his confusion at Dean's annoyed glare. "Your brother seems very happy, Dean. You must be proud of him."

Dean ducked his head.

"I am," he affirmed softly. "So what about you, Cas? Are you happy?"

Castiel adopted a far off look. One that made Dean miss the conversations they had about stars late at night before falling asleep together on his or Cas' bed. Cas had always been so smart, so bright; Dean could never get sick of the stupid little factoids and useless information Cas would chat about at any given time of day. Looking at Cas now, Dean especially missed the little known data Cas would murmur into his ear before bed; he could still feel Cas' lips behind his ear like a brand.

"I am happy, yes," Castiel said, after a moment. He turned to look at Dean. "I could be... happier, in some respects. But I am very fortunate, and for that, I am grateful."

"I missed you," Dean breathed. The words tumbled from his mouth without his permission as he sat staring at Castiel. The man's face went from shock, to confusion, and lastly to something much too bright, much too buoyant to ignore: hope.

"Me too," Castiel said softly, and the words seemed to fall from his lips too fast to be two distinct words. "Me too, Dean. Fuck, I missed you."

They both looked at each other for a moment, eyes darting from lips to pupils and back again.

Dean was the first to break.

"I want to kiss you," he said in a rush. Castiel smiled, leaning in already, but Dean stopped it. "But," Dean added. Castiel's smile disappeared, replaced by apprehension. "You didn't answer my goddamn question, Castiel!"

Cas made a face, eyes gazing longingly at Dean's lips as he clearly tried to wrack his brains for an unanswered question from earlier.

"The girlfriend, boyfriend situation, Cas?" Dean asked impatiently. His hand had apparently nestled in behind Cas' neck and he was toying with Castiel's collar, unconsciously moving closer.

"What?" Cas asked, confused. "Oh! What? Dean, of course I don't have a significant other! What the hell?"

And the way Castiel said it, just so matter of fact, as if there was nothing more natural in the world, made Dean's heart swell to three times its size in his chest. Castiel, who had rolled his eyes at the apparently ridiculous question, was already claiming Dean's lips with his own, sucking on his cupid's bow without a hint of reservation.

Later, once Dean's hands had begun to wander into hemlines and waistbands, Castiel conveniently mentioned the nearby location of his fancy new condo he used when he was "in town on business". They extracted themselves from each other's embrace long enough to get up and walk through the park in the direction of Cas' house. They were still under the cover of trees when Castiel stopped abruptly and tugged Dean's hand to the right.

"Look! Dean, look!" Castiel all but yelled. Dean, who had been busy burying his face in Castiel's neck and smelling his skin, grumpily looked in the direction Cas was pointing. His jaw slackened at the sight, while Cas dragged him up to the monstrosity much like a child would their parent.

"This is so perfect," Castiel said, just as Dean looked to the sky mouthing, "Really?"

Cas was beaming at a man running a very cute, very yellow lemonade stand.

"Two, please," Castiel was saying, but Dean held a hand out shaking his head.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Castiel asked, concerned as the man selling lemonade looked from Castiel to Dean.

Dean looked from the man serving the cold drinks to Cas' wide, innocent blue gaze and time seemed to slow for a moment. Suddenly, he could see his entire future panned out in front of him. Maybe Castiel would tour Europe. Maybe Dean's company would expand into a chain. Hell, maybe they'd both quit and move back into John's house permanently, living off a vegetable garden and honey. Dean wondered absently what Castiel had done with his bees and whether it was difficult to obtain new ones for a split second. Dean saw three kids, or two dogs, or a sad little goldfish on the sill of a plant covered window... But one thing was very clear as Dean looked ahead: Cas and him, they were together. This was it for him.

"Cas, hold on," Dean said urgently, steering Cas away from the man. "I gotta tell you something."

"Okay..." Castiel answered uncertainly. Dean turned to face Castiel head on, bracing himself with both hands planted firmly on Castiel's shoulders.

"I want to be with you. I do. We met when we were still young, and you taught me a hell of a lot about myself, but also about caring about someone else. We spent all this time hiding stuff and pretending; so I really want this time around to be different because... Well because I don't want to spend another second without you. Much less 7 years... " Dean said. He felt his skin heat for the millionth time in Cas' presence at the words that were now pouring out his mouth. Cas' eyes widened further and Dean could see tears pooling at the corners of them. Oh well, Dean thought. Too late now... "So I really gotta confess something."

"Whatever it is, Dean, you can tell me," Castiel said. His voice was cautious, worried.

"Cas," Dean said solemnly. "I..." Dean took a deep breath, staring steadily into Cas' worried eyes.

"I fucking hate lemonade."

Cas stared, slack jawed for a moment, as the words sunk in.

Then, throwing back his head, Castiel let out a very loud, completely uninhibited bark of laughter.

Dean's eyes widened for a second; but then he couldn't help but burst into laughter along with Castiel too. Soon they were both doubled over with laughter; Castiel wheezing as he tried to regain enough composure to explain.

"My God, Dean, I thought you had herpes or something," Castiel finally choked out through his giggles, as several mothers glared at him. Dean just laughed harder at that.

Once their laughter subsided a bit, Castiel linked his arm in Dean's.

"So," he said, still a little breathless. "Shall I fuck you into the mattress of my pretty little condo before any more big confessions?"

Dean choked on his last giggle, face reddening instantly as he stood up sharply.

"In fact, I do believe all that lying about the lemonade requires some punishment..." Cas said, raising an eyebrow. Dean's mouth parted, the corners of it lifting up into an eager smile. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir!" Dean said, and dragged Castiel forward by the arm.

The End


End file.
